OF  ENGLISH    TEXTS 


GENERAL   EDITOR 

HENRY   VAN    DYKE 


THE   GATEWAY   SERIES. 
HENRY  VAN  DYKE,  GENERAL  EDITOR. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.      Professor  Felix  E. 

Schelling,  University  of  Pennsylvania. 
SHAKESPEARE'S   JULIUS   C/ESAR.     Dr.  Hamilton  W.  Mabie, 

"  The  Outlook." 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MACBETH.    Professor  T.  M.  Parrott,  Prince- 
ton University. 
MILTON'S  MINOR  POEMS.     Professor  Mary  A.  Jordan,  Smith 

College. 
ADDISON'S  SIR   ROGER  DE  COVERLEY  PAPERS.     Professor 

C.  T.  Winchester,  Wesleyan  University. 
GOLDSMITH'S  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.      Professor  James  A. 

Tufts,  Phillips  Exeter  Academy. 
BURKE'S    SPEECH   ON     CONCILIATION.     Professor  William 

MacDonald,  Brown  University. 
COLERIDGE'S  THE  ANCIENT    MARINER.     Professor  George 

E.  Woodberry,  Columbia  University. 
SCOTT'S    IVANHOE.      Professor    Francis    H.    Stoddard,   New 

York  University. 
SCOTT'S  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.     Professor  R.  M.  Alden,  Leland 

Stanford  Jr.  University. 
IRVING'S   LIFE  OF   GOLDSMITH.      Professor  Martin  Wright 

Sampson,  University  of  Indiana. 
MACAULAY'S    MILTON.      Rev.    E.    L.  Gulick,   Lawrenceville 

School. 
MACAULAY'S   ADDISON.      Professor  Charles  F.  McClumpha, 

University  of  Minnesota. 

MACAULAY'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON.     Professor  J.  S.  Clark,  North- 
western University. 

CARLYLE'S  ESSAY  ON  BURNS.    Professor  Edwin  Mims,  Trin- 
ity College,  North  Carolina. 
GEORGE  ELIOT'S  SILAS  MARNER.     Professor  W.  L.  Cross, 

Yale  University. 
TENNYSON'S     PRINCESS.       Professor    Katharine    Lee    Bates, 

Wellesley  College. 
TENNYSON'S    GARETH    AND    LYNETTE,     LANCELOT    AND 

ELAINE,  and  THE   PASSING  OF  ARTHUR.     Henry  van 

Dyke. 


GATEWAY   SERIES 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


BY 


SIR  WALTER   SCOTT 


EDITED   BY 
RAYMOND   MACDONALD   ALDEN,  PH.D. 

ASSISTANT   PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH    LITERATURE   AND    RHETORIC, 
LELAND   STANFORD   JUNIOR   UNIVERSITY 


NEW  YORK  •:•  CINCINNATI  •:•  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK    COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
AMERICAN  BOOK   COMPANY. 

ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS'  HALL,  LONDON. 


THE   LADY   OF  THE   LAKE. 
W.  P.    2 


Stack 
Annex 


530% 


PREFACE    BY   THE   GENERAL 
EDITOR 

THIS  series  of  books  aims,  first,  to  give  the  English 
texts  required  for  entrance  to  college  in  a  form  which 
shall  make  them  clear,  interesting,  and  helpful  to  those 
who  are  beginning  the  study  of  literature  ;  and,  second, 
to  supply  the  knowledge  which  the  student  needs  to 
pass  the  entrance  examination.  For  these  two  reasons 
it  is  called  The  Gateway  Series. 

The  poems,  plays,  essays,  and  stories  in  these  small 
volumes  are  treated,  first  of  all,  as  works  of  literature, 
which  were  written  to  be  read  and  enjoyed,  not  to  be 
parsed  and  scanned  and  pulled  to  pieces.  A  short  life 
of  the  .author  is  given,  and  a  portrait,  in  order  to  help 
the  student  to  know  the  real  person  who  wrote  the 
book.  The  introduction  tells  what  it  is  about,  and 
how  it  was  written,  and  where  the  author  got  the  idea, 
and  what  it  means.  The  notes  at  the  foot  of  the  page 
are  simply  to  give  the  sense  of  the  hard  words  so  that 
the  student  can  read  straight  on  without  turning  to  a 
dictionary.  The  other  notes,  at  the  end  of  the  book, 
explain  difficulties  and  allusions  and  fine  points. 

5 


6  Preface  by  the  General  Editor 

The  editors  are  chosen  because  of  their  thorough 
training  and  special  fitness  to  deal  with  the  books 
committed  to  them,  and  because  they  agree  with  this 
idea  of  what  a  Gateway  Series  ought  to  be.  They 
express,  in  each  case,  their  own  views  of  the  books 
which  they  edit.  Simplicity,  thoroughness,  shortness, 
and  clearness,  —  these,  we  hope,  will  be  the  marks  of 
the  series. 

HENRY   VAN  DYKE. 


PREFACE 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake  should  be  read  primarily  for 
simple  enjoyment,  not  for  the  study  of  history  or  geog- 
raphy. Knowledge  of  some  historical  and  geographical 
details  is,  however,  indispensable  to  the  understanding 
of  the  story ;  these,  and  nothing  more,  it  has  been  the 
aim  of  the  editor  to  supply  in  the  notes.  The  student 
may  well  read  the  poem  as  rapidly  as  he  can  under- 
stand it.  The  map  forming  page  36  will  be  found  to 
contain  nearly  all  the  geographical  names  mentioned 
in  the  text,  and  should  be  constantly  used  in  connec- 
tion with  the  notes. 

Among  the  many  editions  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
that  of  Dr.  William  J.  Rolfe,  in  the  Riverside  Press 
series,  is  deserving  of  special  mention.  The  present 
editor  owes  acknowledgment  for  assistance  found  in 
Dr.  Rolfe's  careful  work  on  the  text  of  the  poem,  as 
well  as  in  his  notes  on  geographical  details. 


R.  M.  A. 


STANFORD  UNIVERSITY, 
CALIFORNIA. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  : 

I.     Life  r.nd  Character  of  Scott II 

II.     The  Lady  of  the  Lake      .         .         .         ...         .27 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 37 

NOTES 235 


INTRODUCTION 


I.   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  SCOTT 

THE  author  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  and  the  Waverley 
Novels  is  on,e  of  the  most  agreeable  figures  one  can  meet 
in  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  great  names  in  our 
literature.  He  did  not  conceal  his  own  personality 
behind  his  work,  like  Shakespeare  and  other  dramatic 
poets,  but  showed  his  hearty  and  kindly  nature  in  all 
that  he  wrote  ;  and  he  lived  among  friends  who  appreci- 
ated the  importance  of  his  work,  so  that  we  have  in  their 
records  of  his  life  and  character  as  full  an  account  of 
Scott  as  we  could  wish  for.  Indeed,  the  biography 
written  by  John  G.  Lockhart,  his  son-in-law,  is  commonly 
considered  one  of  the  best  two  biographies  in  the  English 
language  —  BoswelPs  Life  of  Johnson  being  the  other. 
Every  reader  of  Scott  will  wish  sooner  or  later  to  make 
his  acquaintance  through  this  book ;  for  the  present  pur- 
pose we  need  only  look  rapidly  at  the  outlines  of  his 
life,  drawing  upon  Lockhart,  of  course,  for  most  of  the 
material. 

Walter  Scott  was  the  son  of  an  Edinburgh  lawyer,  and 
was  born  in  the  Scotch  capital  on  August  15,  1 771.  As  a 
boy  he  was  a  bright,  active  youngster,  entering  heartily 


12  Introduction 

into  all  sports  and  outdoor  exercises,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  from  infancy  he  suffered  from  a  lameness  in  one  leg. 
The  cheerfulness  with  which  he  met  and  largely  over- 
came the  disadvantages  of  this  trouble,  and  the  frankness 
with  which  he  always  spoke  of  it,  contrast  pleasantly 
with  the  sensitiveness  and  morbid  regrets  always  shown 
by  Lord  Byron  in  connexion  with  his  similar  deformity. 

In  his  studies  Scott  did  not  especially  distinguish  him- 
self, but  he  was  always  passionately  fond  of  literature  and 
history,  and  had  an  extraordinary  memory  which  all 
through  life  enabled  him  to  repeat,  almost  word  for  word, 
any  part  of  his  reading  in  which  he  had  been  particularly 
interested.  An  amusing  story  is  told  of  him  when  only 
six  years  old,  that  he  said  to  his  aunt  that  he  liked  a 
certain  Mrs.  Cockburn  who  had  been  visiting  the  family, 
because  she  was  a  virtuoso  like  himself.  "  Walter,"  said 
his  Aunt  Jenny,  "  what  is  a  virtuoso  ?  "  "  Why,  it's  one 
who  wishes  and  will  know  everything."  Another  notice- 
able fact  about  his  childhood  was  his  fondness  for  the  old 
Scotch  and  English  ballads,  especially  those  telling  of  the 
warring  days  of  the  "Border  chivalry."  Over  these  he 
would  pore  by  the  hour,  and  by  the  time  he  was  twelve 
years  old  he  had  a  collection  of  them,  many  of  which  he 
had  picked  up  in  pamphlet  form  at  book-shops,  amount- 
ing to  several  volumes.  He  has  himself  told  us  of  the 
day  when  he  first  came  across  the  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  edited  by  Dr.  Percy,  —  the  chief  collection  of  the 
old  ballads  made  in  the  eighteenth  century.  "  I  remem- 
ber well  the  spot  where  I  read  these  volumes  for  the  first 


Introduction  13 

time.  It  was  beneath  a  huge  platanus  tree,  in  the  ruins 
of  what  had  been  intended  for  an  old-fashioned  arbour  in 
the  garden  I  have  mentioned.  The  summer  day  sped 
onward  so  fast  that,  notwithstanding  the  sharp  appetite 
of  thirteen,  I  forgot  the  hour  of  dinner,  was  sought  for 
with  anxiety,  and  was  still  found  entranced  in  my  intel- 
lectual banquet.  .  .  .  Henceforth  I  overwhelmed  my 
schoolfellows,  and  all  who  would  hearken  to  me,  with 
tragical  recitations  from  the  ballads."  The  importance 
of  this  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  was  these  old  ballad  stories 
which  formed  in  a  sense  the  models  for  Scott's  poems  of 
adventure. 

In  like  manner  the  romantic  scenery  of  the  Scotch 
lakes  and  mountains  was  full  of  poetic  and  historic  inter- 
est for  him.  When  he  was  taken  to  visit  any  of  the  bits 
of  interesting  country  within  easy  reach  of  Edinburgh,  he 
not  only  enjoyed  its  natural  beauty  for  its  own  sake,  but 
filled  it  in  with  the  imaginary  forms  of  the  monks  and 
knights,  the  fair  ladies  and  the  warriors,  of  the  age  of 
romance.  Speaking  again  of  the  time  when  he  was  twelve 
or  thirteen  years  old,  he  tells  how  his  "  romantic  feelings  " 
connected  themselves  with  the  landscape  ;  "  and  the  his- 
torical incidents,  or  traditional  legends  connected  with 
many  of  them,  gave  to  my  admiration  a  sort  of  intense 
impression  of  reverence,  which  at  times  made  my  heart 
feel  too  big  for  its  bosom.  From  this  time  the  love  of 
natural  beauty,  more  especially  when  combined  with 
ancient  ruins,  or  remains  of  our  fathers'  piety  or  splen- 
dour, became  with  me  an  insatiable  passion." 


14  Introduction 

And  when  he  could  not  be  in  the  country,  or  even  in  out- 
door sports,  his  imagination  still  did  him  good  service.  At 
the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  confined  to  his  room  by  a  long 
illness,  and  he  relates  how  one  of  his  amusements  during 
this  time  was  to  call  to  mind  the  wars  and  battles  of 
which  he  had  read  in  history.  These  he  worked  out  by 
the  "  expedient  of  arranging  shells,  and  seeds,  and  peb- 
bles, so  as  to  represent  encountering  armies.  Diminu- 
tive crossbows  were  contrived  to  mimic  artillery,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  a  friendly  carpenter  I  contrived  to 
model  a  fortress,  which  .  .  .  represented  whatever  place 
happened  to  be  uppermost  in  my  imagination.  I  fought 
my  way  thus  through  Vertot's  Knights  of  Malta,  a  book 
which,  as  it  hovered  between  history  and  romance,  was 
exceedingly  dear  to  me."  All  through  life  Scott  kept  up 
his  interest  in  military  matters,  and  for  a  great  part  of  his 
early  manhood  he  was  officer  of  a  volunteer  troop  of  cav- 
alry in  which  his  good  horsemanship  gave  him  a  promi- 
nent place,  despite  his  lameness.  One  result  of  all  this  is 
that  his  writings  excel  in  descriptions  of  military  affairs, 
his  battles  —  whether  in  prose  or  verse  —  being  among 
the  liveliest  and  at  the  same  time  the  clearest  in  literature. 

When  he  came  of  age,  without  waiting  to  complete  a 
university  course,  Scott  was  admitted  to  the  bar  and 
began  to  practise  law  in  his  father's  office  and  for  him- 
self. But  while  he  was  by  no  means  a  failure  in  this  pro- 
fession, he  did  not  especially  distinguish  himself  in  it,  and 
soon  came  to  have  more  interest  in  literature.  After  a 
few  years,  when  his  success  in  poetry  had  —  as  he  ex- 


Introduction  15 

pressed  it  —  made  people  suspicious  of  his  qualities  as  a 
man  of  affairs,  he  quite  abandoned  the  practice  of  his 
profession;  but  in  1799  he  was  made  sheriff  of  Selkirk- 
shire, and  in  1806  one  of  the  clerks  of  the  Court  of  Ses- 
sion at  Edinburgh  —  positions  which  he  held  for  nearly 
the  whole  of  his  remaining  life.  For  these  offices,  which 
brought  him  some  ^1600  ($8000)  a  year,  his  legal  train- 
ing, of  course,  stood  him  in  good  stead  ;  it  also  furnished 
him  no  little  useful  material  for  his  novels. 

Meantime,  at  the  close  of  the  year  1797,  Scott  was 
married.  His  first  love  had  been  a  certain  Williamina 
Stuart,  whose  family  was  considered  to  be  above  the  rank 
of  Scott's,  so  that  the  parents -of  both  the  young  people 
appear  to  have  thought  the  match  undesirable.  Miss 
Stuart  eventually  married  a  gentleman  (later  a  baronet) 
who  became  a  fast  friend  of  Scott's.  In  the  same  year  in 
which  she  was  married,  Scott  met  Miss  Charlotte  Char- 
pentier,  or  Carpenter,  the  daughter  of  a  French  Protestant 
refugee.  "  A  lovelier  vision,"  says  Lockhart,  "  as  all  who 
remember  her  in  the  bloom  of  her  days  have  assured  me, 
could  hardly  have  been  imagined ;  and  from  that  hour 
the  fate  of  the  young  poet  was  fixed."  But  notwith- 
standing the  genuineness  of  his  devotion  to  the  lady  who 
soon  became  his  wife,  Scott  regarded  it  as  something  less 
passionate  than  that  which  he  had  felt  during  his  "  three 
years  of  dreaming  "  of  Williamina  Stuart.  Long  after  his 
marriage  he  wrote  to  a  friend  :  "  Mrs.  Scott's  match  and 
mine  was  of  our  own  making,  and  proceeded  from  the 
most  sincere  affection  on  both  sides,  which  has  rather 


1 6  Introduction 

increased  than  diminished  during  twelve  years'  marriage. 
But  it  was  something  short  of  love  in  all  its  forms,  which 
I  suspect  people  only  feel  once  in  their  lives."  Mrs. 
Scott  does  not  appear  to  have  had  a  strong  imagination 
or  any  unusual  interest  in  literature  ;  hence  she  could  not 
exert  such  an  influence  on  her  husband's  work  as  the 
wives  of  some  other  poets  have  done.  But  she  was  a 
thoroughly  good  wife  and  mother,  and  when  she  died,  in 
1826,  Scott  wrote  in  his  diary,  "I  wonder  how  I  shall  do 
with  the  large  portion  of  thoughts  which  were  hers  for 
thirty  years." 

Four  children  came  to  the  household,  two  boys  (Wal- 
ter and  Charles)  and  two  girls  (Sophia  and  Anne).  The 
many  pictures  which  we  get  of  the  family  life  while  all 
were  still  together  at  home  are  almost  without  exception 
pleasant  ones ;  and  Scott's  letters  to  his  sons,  written 
after  they  went  away  from  home  to  study,  are  those  of  a 
father  both  wise  and  kind,  who  made  his  children  his 
companions.  The  older  son  entered  the  army,  and  the 
younger  the  government  civil  service.  Sophia  married 
John  Lockhart,  one  of  the  rising  young  literary  men 
whom  Scott  had  befriended;  while  his  other  daughter, 
Anne,  remained  his  constant  companion  until  his  death. 
None  of  the  children  survived  their  father  by  many  years. 

Turning  back  now  to  trace  Scott's  literary  work,  we 
find  that  his  earliest  published  poems  were  translations  of 
some  German  ballads,  which  he  had  made  for  his  own 
amusement.  Later  he  wrote  original  verses  of  the  same 
general  character;  and  in  the  meantime  his  continued 


Introduction  17 

studies  in  the  ballad  literature  of  his  own  country  grad- 
ually led  to  the  book  called  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  which  he  published  in  1802.  In  this  work  Scott 
included  not  only  the  popular  ballads  which  he  had  gath- 
ered from  many  sources,  but  also  modern  imitations  of 
them  by  a  few  of  his  friends  and  by  himself;  and  his  first 
important  and  celebrated  poem,  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  was  originally  intended  for  a  place  in  the  same 
collection,  but  grew  in  his  hands  until  it  seemed  better 
suited  to  form  a  book  by  itself.  It  appeared  in  January, 
1805,  and  was  so  well  received  that,  as  Lockhart  tells  us, 
"  its  success  at  once  decided  that  literature  should  form 
the  main  business  of  Scott's  life."  The  first  edition  con- 
sisted only  of  750  copies,  the  second  of  1500,  the  third, 
fourth,  and  fifth  of  about  2000  each ;  and  before  Scott 
collected  his  poems,  twenty-five  years  later,  more  than 
40,000  copies  of  the  Lay  had  been  sold  in  Great 
Britain  alone.  The  story  of  the  success  of  the  poems 
that  followed  is  almost  the  same.  For  Marmion,  pub- 
lished in  1808,  the  publishers  offered  ^"1000  without 
having  seen  a  line  of  it,  —  or,  as  Byron  said,  "  just  half  a 
crown  per  line."  The  principal  poems  that  followed 
were  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  in  1810 ;  Rokeby,  in  1812  ; 
The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  in  1813  ;  The  Lord  of  the  Isles, 
in  1815,  and  Harold  the  Dauntless,  in  1817. 

In  1813  Scott  was  asked  by  the  Prince  Regent  to  be- 
come Poet  Laureate,  in  recognition  of  his  being  the  most 
popular  poet  in  the  kingdom ;  but  he  declined  the  hon- 
our, and  managed  to  secure  it  for  his  friend,  Robert 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE — 2 


1 8  Introduction 

Southey,  who  needed  the  salary  more  than  he.  This 
period  marks  the  turning-point  from  the  part  of  Scott's 
life  which  was  devoted  chiefly  to  poetry,  to  that  which 
was  devoted  to  prose  romances.  In  1813  Lord  Byron 
published  two  of  his  metrical  romances,  The  Giaour  and 
The  Bride  of  Abydos,  and  among  London  readers  his 
fame  was  beginning  to  outshine  Scott's.  Although  Byron 
sent  to  the  elder  poet  a  copy  of  The  Giaour  with  the  in- 
scription, "  To  the  Monarch  of  Parnassus  from  one  of  his 
subjects,"  Scott  was  nevertheless  one  of  the  first  to  see 
that  his  genius  in  poetry  was  not  the  equal  of  Byron's. 
"  He  hits  the  mark  where  I  don't  even  pretend  to  fledge 
my  arrow,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  intimate  friends ;  and 
long  afterward,  near  the  close  of  his  life,  he  said  that  one 
reason  why  he  had  given  up  poetry  was  because  Byron, 
who  had  a  deeper  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  was 
taking  his  place.  In  the  same  year,  1813,  Scott  set  to 
work  on  his  first  novel,  Waverley,  which  he  had  begun 
some  years  before  and  abandoned;  and  in  1814  it  was 
published.  Thus  began  the  second  and  more  brilliant 
period  of  his  literary  career. 

Into  the  details  of  this  new  period  we  need  not  at 
present  go.  Even  the  list  of  Scott's  romances  is  too 
long  to  repeat  here,  and  the  story  of  their  success  be- 
longs to  the  study  of  his  work  in  prose.  They  followed 
one  another  with  extraordinary  rapidity,  and  were  even 
more  eagerly  bought  and  read  than  the  poems  had 
been.  Between  1814  and  1825  Scott  had  written  more 
than  twenty  of  these  books,  and  had  received  for  them 


Introduction  19 

more  than  ^25,000.  Part  of  this  money  was  spent 
in  providing  for  his  children;  a  part  was  invested  in 
the  printing  establishment  of  his  friends,  the  Ballantynes, 
who  had  made  their  reputation  by  printing  his  works  ; 
but  the  greater  part  was  devoted  to  building  up  his 
estate  of  Abbotsford,  where  this,  the  happiest  period 
of  his  life,  was  largely  spent. 

Abbotsford  was  in  Scott's  favourite  Border  country, 
south  of  Edinburgh,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  and 
looking  across  the  river  to  the  Cheviot  Hills  of  Eng- 
land. It  had  been  a  part  of  the  old  estate  of  the  monks 
of  Melrose  Abbey,  the  ruins  of  which  are  still  well  pre- 
served, and  for  which  Scott  showed  a  passionate  devo- 
tion. His  estate  was  at  first  a  mere  farm,  but  he  added 
to  it  until  it  reached  quite  lordly  proportions,  and  at  the 
same  time  planned  the  fine  residence,  every  nook  and 
corner  of  which  is  associated  with  his  care  and  taste, 
and  which  is  still  visited  by  countless  pilgrims  who  hon- 
our his  memory.  His  official  duties  called  him  to  Edin- 
burgh for  certain  months  of  each  year,  but  the  moment 
he  could  leave  them  he  would  hasten  back  to  Abbots- 
ford,  to  his  beloved  river  and  trees,  his  horses  and  dogs. 
Here  he  entertained,  with  splendid  hospitality,  both 
friends  from  every  quarter  of  Great  Britain  and  visitors 
of  more  or  less  distinction  from  all  over  the  world. 
Every  visitor  of  this  sort  who  made  any  record  of  his 
experiences  at  Abbotsford  ha^  recorded  the  kindness 
and  grace  which  Scott  showed  as  a  host,  and  the  sim- 
plicity and  charm  of  his  home  life.  His  time  seemed 


2O  Introduction 

always  at  the  disposal  of  his  family  and  friends,  though 
in  reality  he  was  usually  careful  to  save  a  part  of  each 
morning  for  rapid  work  at  his  desk.  Scott's  novels 
had  all  been  published  without  the  author's  name,  and 
the  secret  of  the  authorship  was  revealed  only  to  a  few 
of  his  most  intimate  friends,  though  it  gradually  came  to 
be  understood  by  all  who  knew  him.  But  he  never  per- 
mitted any  personal  conversation  on  the  subject,  and 
his  family  laughingly  accepted  the  popular  phrase  and 
called  him  "  the  Great  Unknown."  So  he  led  a  simpler 
life  than  would  have  been  possible  if  he  had  become  the 
acknowledged  leading  novelist  of  Great  Britain ;  and 
there  were  even  some  of  his  friends  to  whom  it  seemed 
impossible  that  the  man  who  was  always  at  leisure  for 
riding,  hunting,  telling  stories,  corresponding  with  his 
friends,  or  doing  a  service  for  any  one  in  need,  could  be 
at  the  same  time  the  writer  of  two  three-volume  novels 
in  a  year. 

In  1825,  five  years  after  he  had  been  made  a  baronet 
by  the  personal  choice  of  the  king,  this  happy  period  of 
Scott's  life  came  to  a  close  through  the  loss  of  his  fortune. 
It  was  the  investment  in  the  Ballantyne  printing  house 
which  brought  the  crash.  Neither  the  Ballantynes  nor 
Scott  had  given  sufficient  attention  to  the  details  of  busi- 
ness, and  when  some  of  the  firms  with  which  theirs  was 
connected  fell  into  difficulties  at  this  time,  they  were 
found  to  be  so  involved  that  there  was  no  possibility  of 
avoiding  a  failure.  Their  debts  all  told  amounted  to 
over  ;£ ii 0,000,  or  considerably  more  than  half  a  million 


Introduction  21 

of  dollars,  and  the  honour  of  Scott  was  involved  in  them 
all. 

Lord  Cockburn,  a  prominent  Scotchman  of  this  period, 
has  recorded  the  impression  made  on  the  community  by 
Scott's  misfortune.  "The  opening  of  the  year  1826  will 
ever  be  sad  to  those  who  remember  the  thunderbolt  which 
then  fell  on  Edinburgh  in  the  utterly  unexpected  bank- 
ruptcy of  Scott.  ...  If  an  earthquake  had  swallowed 
half  the  town,  it  would  not  have  produced  greater  as- 
tonishment, sorrow,  and  dismay.  .  .  .  How  humbled 
we  felt  when  we  saw  him  —  the  pride  of  us  all,  dashed 
from  his  lofty  and  honourable  station,  and  all  the  fruits 
of  his  well-worked  talents  gone.  .  .  .  Well  do  I  remem- 
ber his  first  appearance  after  this  calamity  was  divulged, 
when  he  walked  into  court  one  day  in  January,  1826. 
There  was  no  affectation,  and  no  reality,  of  facing  it ; 
no  look  of  indifference  or  defiance ;  but  the  manly  and 
modest  air  of  a  gentleman  conscious  of  some  folly,  but 
of  perfect  rectitude,  and  of  most  heroic  and  honourable 
resolutions.  It  was  on  that  very  day,  I  believe,  that  he 
said  a  very  fine  thing.  Some  of  his  friends  offered  him, 
or  rather  proposed  to  offer  him,  enough  of  money,  as  was 
supposed,  to  enable  him  to  arrange  with  his  creditors. 
He  paused  for  a  moment ;  and  then,  recollecting  his 
powers,  said  proudly,  '  No  !  this  right  hand  shall  work  it 
all  off!'" 

The  remaining  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  fulfilling 
this  resolution.  Scott  believed  that  if  his  strength  should 
last  long  enough,  and  his  popularity  as  a  novelist  con- 


22  Introduction 

tinue,  he  could  write  books  which  would  enable  him  to 
pay  all  that  he  owed.  But  he  was  now  more  than  fifty 
years  old,  and  the  task  was  too  heavy.  He  did  accomplish 
wonders,  paying  from  the  profits  of  his  writings  nearly 
half  the  debt  of  the  firm  with  which  he  had  been  associ- 
ated, in  only  five  years'  time.  But  his  work,  which  had 
formerly  been  only  a  pleasure  to  him,  now  became  a 
burden.  His  strength  and  buoyancy  gave  way,  and  at 
length  a  stroke  of  paralysis  left  him  comparatively  help- 
less in  both  body  and  mind.  A  journey  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean was  planned  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and  the 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held  is  strikingly  shown  by  the 
fact  that  his  Majesty's  government  set  apart  a  frigate  of 
the  navy  for  Sir  Walter's  use.  But  he  continued  to  fail, 
and  was  eager  to  return  to  his  beloved  Abbotsford  to  die. 
When  quite  near  the  end  he  sent  for  his  son-in-law, 
Mr.  Lockhart,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Lockhart,  I  may  have 
but  a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a  good  man 
—  be  virtuous  —  be  religious  —  be  a  good  man.  Nothing 
else  will  give  you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie 
here."  On  the  2ist  of  September,  1832,  as  Lockhart 
tells  us,  "  Sir  Walter  breathed  his  last,  in  the  presence  of 
all  his  children.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  —  so  warm  that 
every  window  was  wide  open  —  and  so  perfectly  still  that 
the  sound  of  all  others  most  delicious  to  his  ear,  the 
gentle  ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles,  was  distinctly 
audible  as  we  knelt  around  the  bed." 

It  was  peculiarly  true  of  Scott  that  "none  knew  him 
but  to  love  him."     The  pleasure  that  he  had  given  by 


Introduction  23 

his  writings  was  so  great  that,  as  the  Earl  of  Dudley  said 
at  the  time  of  his  financial  misfortunes,  "  Let  every  man 
to  whom  he  has  given  months  of  delight  give  him  a  six- 
pence, and  he  will  rise  to-morrow  morning  richer  than 
Rothschild  !  "  But  this  was  not  all.  Other  great  writers, 
like  Pope,  Burns,  Coleridge,  Byron,  and  Carlyle,  have  given 
pleasure  to  thousands  of  readers,  but  their  readers  have 
nevertheless  been  unable  to  forget  important  defects  in 
their  character.  Those  who  knew  Scott  most  intimately 
saw  no  such  spots  on  his  fame.  He  was  a  perfect  gentle- 
man, and  there  is  hardly  a  recorded  instance  of  his  lower- 
ing his  own  standard  of  character  or  doing  an  unkind- 
ness.  His  age  was,  unfortunately,  one  of  literary  quarrels  ; 
but  Scott  was  the  friend  of  every  other  poet  of  his  time, 
and  never  quarrelled  with  any  of  them,  even  under  provo- 
cation. He  firmly  believed  in  the  law  of  kindness.  In 
his  last  years,  looking  back  over  his  career  and  speaking 
of  some  of  his  critics,  he  wrote  :  "  I  let  parody,  burlesque, 
and  squibs  find  their  own  level ;  and  while  the  latter 
hissed  most  fiercely,  I  was  cautious  never  to  catch  them 
up,  as  school-boys  do,  to  throw  them  back  against  the 
naughty  boy  who  fired  them  off,  wisely  remembering  that 
they  are  in  such  cases  apt  to  explode  in  the  handling." 
His  only  warm  disputes  were  on  political  matters,  for  he 
was  an  ardent  Tory,  and  honestly  opposed  the  opposite 
party  whenever  there  was  occasion.  But  he  did  this  in 
such  good  spirit  that  Lord  Cockburn  observed  that  at  the 
time  of  his  failure  there  was  not  one  of  his  political  op- 
ponents "  who  would  not  have  given  every  spare  farthing 


24  Introduction 

he  possessed  to  relieve  Sir  Walter."  The  kindliness  and 
pure-heartedness,  then,  which  appear  in  his  writings  are 
the  revelation  of  the  man  himself. 

In  a  sense  Scott  always  remained  boyish.  Once,  in 
writing  to  a  lady  who  knew  him  only  by  correspondence, 
he  said  :  "  I  am  afraid  you  have  formed  a  higher  opinion 
of  me  than  I  deserve :  you  would  expect  to  see  a  person 
who  had  dedicated  himself  much  to  literary  pursuits, 
and  you  would  find  me  a  rattle-skulled  half-lawyer,  half- 
sportsman,  through  whose  head  a  regiment  of  horse  has 
been  exercising  since  he  was  five  years  old  ;  half-educated 
—  half-crazy,  as  his  friends  sometimes  tell  him."  So  he 
never  lost  his  love  for  his  horses  and  dogs,  for  games  and 
hunting,  for  stories  of  war  and  romance.  He  always  kept, 
too,  a  fondness  for  a  certain  sort  of  aristocratic  display, 
which  was  at  the  same  time  not  inconsistent  with  simplicity 
of  spirit.  He  liked  processions  and  ceremonials  ;  he  was 
careful  to  observe  the  old  festivals  of  Scottish  life  as  they 
came  around  from  year  to  year;  he  genuinely  enjoyed 
the  right  to  emblazon  his  coat-of-arms  as  a  baronet ;  and 
one  of  his  greatest  pleasures  in  building  up  his  Abbotsford 
estate  was  in  gathering  around  him  tenants  and  servants 
who  would  be  devoted  to  him,  and  to  whom  he  would 
show  kindness,  in  the  old-fashioned  position  of  a  lord  of 
the  manor.  It  was  natural,  then,  that  he  should  not  be 
of  a  temper  to  sympathize  with  the  growth  of  democratic 
ideas  which  tended  to  break  down  all  political  and  social 
distinctions  between  men ;  and  it  is  perhaps  the  chief 
limitation  of  Scott  that  he  failed  to  understand  or  sympa- 


Introduction  25 

thize  with  the  reform  movements  of  his  time.  In  the 
same  way  we  do  not  find  in  either  his  poetry  or  his 
novels  any  traces  of  the  influence  of  modern  democratic 
ideas,  but  rather  the  atmosphere  of  the  earlier  days  when 
all  well-disposed  people  were  content  with  things  as  they 
found  them. 

Scott  preferred  to  think  of  himself  as  a  gentleman  and  an 
active  man  of  the  world,  who  wrote  poetry  for  the  pleasure 
of  it  and  for  the  sake  of  making  a  little  additional  pocket- 
money,  rather  than  as  a  man  of  letters.  "  Did  any  of  my 
sons,"  he  once  wrote,  "  show  poetical  talent,  of  which,  to 
my  great  satisfaction,  there  are  no  appearances,  the  first 
thing  I  should  do  would  be  to  inculcate  upon  him  the  duty 
of  cultivating  some  honourable  profession,  and  qualifying 
himself  to  play  a  more  respectable  part  in  society  than 
the  mere  poet."  And  in  another  letter  :  " '  I  had  rather  be 
a  kitten  and  cry  mew '  "  (quoting  Shakespeare),  "  than  write 
the  best  poetry  in  the  world  on  condition  of  laying  aside 
common  sense  in  the  ordinary  transactions  and  business 
of  the  world."  Now  from  one  point  of  view  this  feeling 
was,  of  course,  very  sensible,  and  preserved  Scott  from 
the  affectations  and  conceits  of  small  men  of  letters  ;  but 
it  is  easy  to  see,  on  the  other  hand,  that  it  shows  a  lower 
view  of  poetry  than  the  greater  poets  have  taken.  We 
can  imagine  Wordsworth,  or  Shelley,  or  Tennyson  indig- 
nant enough  at  the  expression  "  the  mere  poet."  To 
them  the  poet  was  the  truest  teacher  of  his  age,  with 
powers  and  duties  as  sacred  as  those  of  a  king,  a  priest, 
or  a  prophet.  Here  again,  then,  we  find  a  limitation  of 


16  Introduction 

Scott's.  He  lived  largely  in  the  material  world,  and 
wrote  of  solid  men  and  things,  rather  than  of  spiritual 
forces  or  moral  ideals,  although  he  thoroughly  believed 
in  these  also.  He  was  right  in  saying  that  his  poetry 
must  take  a  second  place ;  for  it  is  not  of  the  sort  that 
reveals  great  truths,  expresses  great  ideas  and  profound 
passions,  or  leads  men  into  higher  living. 

But  it  does  not  follow  that  his  poetry  is  to  be  despised. 
He  used  it  for  the  same  purpose  which  he  afterwards  de- 
cided he  could  accomplish  better  in  prose,  —  that  of 
telling  wholesome  and  brilliant  stories  in  a  way  that 
makes  them  live  in  our  imaginations.  He  delighted  to 
bring  back  the  earlier  days,  "the  age  of  romance,"  in 
all  the  fascination  which  it  had  for  him  when  as  a  boy 
his  fancy  brought  back  the  old  warring  chieftains  to  the 
glens  of  the  Highlands,  the  monks  to  the  ruins  of  Melrose 
Abbey,  and  armoured  knights  to  the  castles  of  Tantallon 
or  Stirling.  His  life,  he  said  near  its  close,  had  been  a 
sort  of  dream.  "  I  have  worn  a  wishing-cap,  the  power 
of  which  has  been  to  divert  present  griefs  by  a  touch 
of  the  wand  of  imagination,  and  gild  over  the  future 
by  prospects  more  fair  than  can  be  realized."  This 
wonderful  wishing-cap  and  this  magic  wand  he  has 
handed  down  to  all  his  readers.  One  of  his  admirers 
early  called  him  "  the  Great  Magician,"  and  the  title  will 
always  be  associated  with  his  memory.  We  go  to  him,  as 
his  own  children  used  to  gather  around  his  chair  in  the 
twilight,  for  stories  that  shall  make  us  forget  ourselves 
in  the  sorrows  and  joys  of  other  days. 


Introduction  27 

II.   THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 

When  Scott  was  only  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  was 
working  in  a  lawyer's  office,  he  was  sent  on  an  expedition 
to  the  Highlands,  with  a  sergeant  and  six  soldiers  to  aid 
him  in  the  execution  of  a  legal  paper.  "  Thus  it  hap- 
pened," as  he  afterwards  wrote,  "  that  the  author  first 
entered  the  romantic  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  of  which 
he  may  perhaps  say  he  has  somewhat  extended  the  rep- 
utation, riding  in  all  the  dignity  of  danger,  with  a  front 
and  rear  guard,  and  loaded  arms."  This  was  the  wild 
country  to  the  northwest  of  Edinburgh,  still  largely  in- 
habited by  the  Celtic  clans  who  considered  themselves 
the  original  and  rightful  inhabitants  of  Scotland,  and 
whose  haunts  and  habits  are  described  in  both  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake  and  the  novel  Rob  Roy.  Scott  often  revisited 
the  Highlands,  and  after  the  success  of  his  earlier  poems, 
particularly  Marmwn,  he  turned  to  the  Loch  Katrine 
region  as  the  scene  of  his  next  work.  "The  scenery  of 
Loch  Katrine,"  he  said,  "  was  connected  with  the  rec- 
ollection of  many  a  dear  friend  and  merry  expedition 
of  former  days.  This  poem,  the  action  of  which  lay 
among  scenes  so  beautiful  and  so  deeply  imprinted  on 
my  recollections,  was  a  labour  of  love,  and  it  was  no  less 
so  to  recall  the  manners  and  customs  introduced." 

The  historical  basis  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  was 
found  in  the  reign  of  King  James  V  of  Scotland,  who  be- 
came the  father  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and  who  had 
inherited  the  throne  when  only  a  year  old,  in  1513.  This 


28  Introduction 

year  1513  was  the  date  of  the  battle  of  Flodden  Field, 
which  is  described  at  the  close  of  the  story  of  Marmion ; 
so  that  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  follows  Marmion  in  the 
time  of  its  story  as  well  as  in  the  time  of  its  writing. 
Later,  in  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  Scott  described 
the  reign  of  James  V,  and  we  can  see  in  his  narrative 
the  facts  which  suggested  the  plot  of  the  poem. 

During  his  boyhood,  King  James  was  for  some  time 
under  the  control  of  Douglas,  the  Earl  of  Angus,  who 
had  married  his  mother ;  but  he  resented  this  bitterly, 
and  at  the  age  of  sixteen  escaped  to  the  royal  castle  of 
Stirling.  Then,  getting  the  power  into  his  own  hands, 
he  exiled  the  entire  Douglas  family,  and  persuaded  Par- 
liament to  declare  their  estates  forfeit.  He  persevered 
in  his  hatred  of  the  Douglases,  as  Scott  relates,  "  even 
under  circumstances  which  rendered  his  unrelenting  re- 
sentment ungenerous.  Archibald  Douglas  of  Kilspindie, 
the  Earl  of  Angus's  uncle,  had  been  a  personal  favourite 
of  the  king  before  the  disgrace  of  his  family.  He  was  so 
much  recommended  to  James  by  his  great  strength, 
manly  appearance,  and  skill  in  every  kind  of  warlike 
exercise,  that  he  was  wont  to  call  him  his  '  Graysteil,' 
after  the  name  of  a  champion  in  a  romance  then  popu- 
lar. Archibald,  becoming  rather  an  old  man,  and  tired 
of  his  exile  in  England,  resolved  to  try  the  king's  mercy. 
He  thought  that  as  they  had  been  so  well  acquainted 
formerly,  and  as  he  had  never  offended  James  person- 
ally, he  might  find  favour  from  their  old  intimacy.  He 
therefore  threw  himself  in  the  king's  way  one  day  as  he 


Introduction  29 

returned  from  hunting  in  the  park  at  Stirling.  It  was 
several  years  since  James  had  seen  him,  but  he  knew 
him  at  a  great  distance,  by  his  firm  and  stately  step,  and 
said,  '  Yonder  is  my  Graysteil,  Archibald  of  Kilspindie.' 
But  when  they  met,  he  showed  no  appearance  of  recog- 
nizing his  old  servant."  While  the  Douglas  of  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake  is  an  imaginary  person,  this  "  Graysteil " 
forms  the  historical  basis  for  his  character. 

Two  other  characteristic  facts  connected  with  James  V 
were  used  by  Scott  in  planning  his  poem  :  the  warfare 
which  the  king  waged  against  the  wild  freebooting  chiefs 
of  the  Highlands  and  the  Border,  of  whom  Roderick  Dhu 
is  an  imaginary  type  ;  and  his  habit  of  going  about  in  dis- 
guise, either  for  purposes  of  pleasure  or  to  observe  the 
conditions  of  his  kingdom  unsuspected.  An  instance  of 
this  latter  sort,  including  one  circumstance  which  is  used 
in  the  story  of  Ellen's  recognition  of  the  king,  Scott  also 
related  in  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 

"  Upon  another  occasion,  King  James,  being  alone  and 
in  disguise,  fell  into  a  quarrel  with  some  gipsies,  or  other 
vagrants,  and  was  assaulted  by  four  or  five  of  them.  .  .  . 
There  was  a  poor  man  thrashing  corn  in  a  barn  near  by, 
who  came  out  on  hearing  the  noise  of  the  scuffle,  and 
seeing  one  man  defending  himself  against  numbers,  gal- 
lantly took  the  king's  part  with  his  flail,  to  such  good 
purpose  that  the  gipsies  were  obliged  to  fly.  The  hus- 
bandman then  took  the  king  into  the  barn,  brought  him 
a  towel  and  water  to  wash  the  blood  from  his  face  and 
hands,  and  finally  walked  with  him  a  little  way  toward 


30  Introduction 

Edinburgh,  in  case  he  should  be  again  attacked.  On  the 
way,  the  king  asked  his  companion  what  and  who  he  was. 
The  labourer  answered  that  his  name  was  John  Howieson, 
and  that  he  was  a  bondsman  on  the  farm  of  Braehead, 
near  Cramond,  which  belonged  to  the  king  of  Scotland. 
James  then  asked  the  poor  man  if  there  was  any  wish  in 
the  world  which  he  would  particularly  desire  should  be 
gratified  ;  and  honest  John  confessed  he  should  think 
himself  the  happiest  man  in  Scotland  were  he  but  propri- 
etor of  the  farm  on  which  he  wrought  as  a  labourer.  He 
then  asked  the  king,  in  turn,  who  he  was ;  and  James 
replied,  as  usual,  that  he  was  the  Goodman  of  Ballen- 
giech,  a  poor  man  who  had  a  small  appointment  about 
the  palace ;  but  he  added  that  if  John  Howieson  would 
come  to  see  him  on  the  next  Sunday,  he  would  endeavour 
to  repay  his  manful  assistance,  and  at  least  give  him  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  royal  apartments.  John  put  on  his 
best  clothes,  as  you  may  suppose,  and,  appearing  at  the 
postern  gate  of  the  palace,  inquired  for  the  Goodman  of 
Ballengiech.  The  king  had  given  orders  that  he  should 
be  admitted  ;  and  John  found  his  friend,  the  goodman,  in 
the  same  disguise  which  he  had  formerly  worn.  The 
king,  still  preserving  the  character  of  an  inferior  officer 
of  the  household,  conducted  John  Howieson  from  one 
apartment  of  the  palace  to  another,  and  was  amused  with 
his  wonder  and  his  remarks.  At  length  James  asked  his 
visitor  if  he  should  like  to  see  the  king ;  to  which  John 
replied,  nothing  would  delight  him  so  much,  if  he  could 
do  so  without  giving  offence.  The  Goodman  of  Ballen- 


Introduction  31 

giech  of  course  undertook  that  the  king  would  not  be 
angry.  'But,'  said  John,  'how  am  I  to  know  his  Grace 
from  the  nobles  who  will  be  all  about  him?'  'Easily/ 
replied  his  companion;  'all  the  others  will  be  uncovered. 
The  king  alone  will  wear  his  hat  or  bonnet.'  So  speak- 
ing, King  James  introduced  the  countryman  into  a  great 
hall,  which  was  filled  by  the  nobility  and  officers  of  the 
crown.  John  was  a  little  frightened,  and  drew  close  to 
his  attendant ;  but  was  still  unable  to  distinguish  the  king. 
'  I  told  you  that  you  should  know  him  by  his  wearing  his 
hat,'  said  the  conductor.  '  Then,'  said  John,  after  he  had 
again  looked  round  the  room,  '  it  must  be  either  you  or 
me,  for  all  but  us  two  are  bareheaded.'  The  king 
laughed  at  John's  fancy;  and  that  the  good  yeoman 
might  have  occasion  for  mirth  also,  he  made  him  a  pres- 
ent of  the  farm  of  Braehead,  which  he  had  wished  so 
much  to  possess,  on  condition  that  John  Howieson,  or 
his  successors,  should  be  ready  to  present  a  ewer  and 
basin  for  the  king  to  wash  his  hands,  when  his  Majesty 
should  come  to  Holyrood  palace,  or  should  pass  the 
bridge  of  Cramond." 

We  see,  then,  how  the  poet,  finding  suggestions  in 
such  historical  situations  as  that  just  described,  wove  into 
them  the  story  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  adding  the  char- 
acters of  Ellen  Douglas  And  her  lover,  and  repeopling  the 
glens  of  the  Highlands  with  warriors,  as  he  had  always 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing,  for  his  own  pleasure,  with 
scenes  of  historic  interest.  "  I  took  uncommon  pains," 
he  said  afterward,  "  to  verify  the  accuracy  of  the  local 


32  Introduction 

circumstances  of  this  story.  I  recollect  in  particular 
that  to  ascertain  whether  I  was  telling  a  probable  tale,  I 
went  into  Perthshire,  to  see  whether  King  James  could 
actually  have  ridden  from  the  banks  of  Loch  Vennachar 
to  Stirling  Castle  within  the  time  supposed  in  the  poem, 
and  had  the  pleasure  to  satisfy  myself  that  it  was  quite 
practicable." 

Scott  also  relates  how  he  read  the  manuscript  of  the 
poem  to  a  friend,  —  a  farmer  and  hunter  rather  than  a 
man  of  letters,  —  in  order  to  test  its  effectiveness.  "  He 
placed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  and  listened  with  great 
attention  through  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  till 
the  dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to  follow  their 
master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen  Douglas.  He  then 
started  up  with  a  sudden  exclamation,  struck  his  hand 
on  the  table,  and  declared  .  .  .  that  the  dogs  must  have 
been  totally  ruined  by  being  permitted  to  take  the  water 
after  such  a  severe  chase.  I  own  I  was  much  encour- 
aged by  the  species  of  revery  which  had  possessed  so 
zealous  a  follower  of  the  sports  of  the  ancient  Nimrod 
who  had  been  completely  surprised  out  of  all  doubts  of 
the  reality  of  the  tale." 

In  1810,  then,  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  was  published. 
"  I  do  not  recollect,"  said  Mr.  Cadell,  an  Edinburgh 
gentleman  of  the  period,  "that  any  of  all  the  author's 
works  was  ever  looked  for  with  more  intense  anxiety, 
or  that  any  one  of  them  excited  a  more  extraordinary 
sensation  when  it  did  appear.  The  whole  country  rang 
with  the  praises  of  the  poet  —  crowds  set  off  to  view  the 


Introduction  33 

scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  till  then  comparatively  un- 
known ;  and  as  the  book  came  out  just  before  the  season 
for  excursions,  every  house  and  inn  in  that  neighbourhood 
was  crammed  with  a  constant  succession  of  visitors." 

This  popularity  has  continued  quite  to  our  own  time. 
Lockhart  thought  that,  while  Marmion  might  be  consid- 
ered "  the  most  powerful  and  splendid  "  of  Scott's  poems, 
The  Lady  of  the  Lake  was  "  the  most  interesting,  roman- 
tic, picturesque,  and  graceful."  Scott  himself  regarded 
Marmion  as  being  distinguished  for  its  descriptive  power, 
The  Lady  of  the  Lake  for  its  incidents.  But  the  fact  is 
that  it  is  the  splendid  movement  of  the  story  which  gives 
life  to  both  poems,  as  to  most  of  his  works.  Whether  it 
is  the  hunting  of  the  stag,  the  wonderful  "  speeding  of  the 
cross,"  the  battle  in  the  Trosachs,  the  single  combat  at 
Coilantogle  Ford,  or  the  games  at  Stirling,  we  follow  the 
rapid,  sure-footed  movements  of  the  poet  like  riders  on 
horseback  dashing  after  an  intrepid  leader.  The  details 
of  style  or  verse  may  sometimes  be  careless  enough,  but 
the  story  never  flags. 

Scott  clearly  recognized  the  real  nature  of  his  powers. 
He  spoke  of  the  "  false  gallop  "  of  his  verse,  not  claiming 
for  it  the  subtle  harmonies  of  the  master  poets,  and  he 
said  that  his  gift  was  to  present  the  "  picturesque  in 
action  "  rather  than  in  scenery.  Yet  his  sense  of  the  pic- 
turesque in  scenery  was  by  no  means  slight,  as  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake  itself  sufficiently  proves.  The  poem  has  be- 
come the  lasting  guide-book  to  the  lake  region  of  the 
Scottish  Highlands,  and  the  guide  not  only  to  its  geo- 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE  —  3 


34  Introduction 

graphical  details  but  to  their  significance  and  beauty.  To 
read  it  aright,  then,  one  must  have  in  mind  this  Highland 
region,  its  extent,  divisions,  and  scenery. 

The  whole  district  that  is  of  interest  to  readers  of  The 
Lady  of  the  Lake  seems  surprisingly  small  to  readers 
familiar  with  American  distances  :  it  covers  an  area  ex- 
tending about  fifteen  miles  to  the  north  and  south,  and 
twenty-five  to  the  east  and  west.  At  the  southeast 
corner  is  Stirling,  with  its  ancient  castle ;  Loch  Lomond 
lies  along  the  western  edge,  with  the  mountain  Ben 
Lomond  rising  from  its  eastern  shore ;  while  through  the 
centre  of  the  district  runs  the  chain  composed  of  three 
lakes  (Katrine,  Achray,  and  Vennachar)  and  the  river 
Teith.  On  all  sides  of  these  lakes  are  the  peaks,  forests, 
and  glens  of  the  Highlands.  For  our  purpose  two  spots 
in  the  region  stand  out  as  of  special  interest.  One  of 
them  is  Coilantogle  Ford,  at  the  eastern  end  of  Loch 
Vennachar,  the  scene  of  the  brilliant  combat  of  Fitz- 
James  and  Roderick  Dhu.  The  other,  even  more  roman- 
tic in  interest,  is  the  eastern  end  of  Loch  Katrine,  the 
very  heart  of  the  country  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Standing  at  this  end  of  the  lake,  one  is  overshadowed 
by  the  peak  of  Benvenue  rising  from  its  southern  shore, 
—  a  peak  which,  although  not  lofty  as  mountain  heights 
go  in  other  lands,  is  likely  to  be  partly  shut  out  from  view 
by  drifting  clouds  and  morning  mists.  Under  its  shadow, 
and  seemingly  within  stone's  throw  of  the  shore,  is  the 
tiny  island  which  Scott  conceived  to  have  been  the  tem- 
porary home  of  the  Douglases,  provided  for  them  by 


Introduction  35 

Roderick  in  the  heart  of  his  dominions,  and  which  has 
ever  since  gone .  by  the  name  of  "  Ellen's  Isle."  To  the 
left  the  path  turns  upward  into  the  forest,  and  is  soon 
winding  through  the  wooded  glen,  with  its  mountain  walls 
rising  on  each  side,  to  which  the  mountaineers  gave  the 
name  of  "  the  Trosachs  "  or  "  bristling  pass."  Nowadays 
there  is  nothing  to  be  heard  here  but  the  rustle  of  the 
leaves,  the  songs  of  birds,  and  occasionally  the  voices  of 
a  party  of  tourists  coming  through  by  coach  from  Loch 
Katrine  to  Aberfoyle  or  Callander ;  but  one  is  tempted 
to  look  warily  behind  trees,  and  to  watch  the  turn  of  the 
road,  for  it  was  hereabouts  that 

"through  copse  and  heath  arose 
Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows," 

and  the  imaginative  wanderer  almost  wishes  for  a  glimpse 
of  one  of  "  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true."  It  is  hard  to 
realize  that  four  hundred  years  have  passed  since  King 
James's  men  and  those  of  the  Highland  chieftain  fought 
and  bled  here  in  the  "  Trosachs'  dread  defile,"  or  since 
Ellen  pushed  her  little  shallop  across  the  lake ;  yes,  and 
a  hundred  years  even  since  Walter  Scott  was  here  tracing 
out  the  lines  of  the  poem.  So  it  is  that  the  poets  keep 
the  old  world  always  young  for  us,  and  make  the  lovers 
and  soldiers  of  long  ago  our  never  failing  friends. 


THE    LADY   OF  THE    LAKE 

CANTO    FIRST 

THE  CHASE 

HARP  of  the  North  1  that  mouldering  long  hast  hung 

On  the  witch-elm  that  shades  Saint  Fillan's  spring, 
And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  l  flung, 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling, 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string,  —  5 

O  minstrel  Harp  !  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  ? 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountain's  murmuring, 

Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep, 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon,2  10 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  crowd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won, 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according  pause,  was  heard  aloud 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high !  15 

Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bowed  ; 

For  still3  the  burden  of  thy  minstrelsy 
Was  Knighthood's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beauty's  match- 
less eye. 

1  Musical  measures.  2  Scotland.  8  Always. 

37 


3  8  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

O  wake  once  more  1  how  rude  soe'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray ;  20 

O  wake  once  more  1  though  scarce  my  skill  command 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay  : 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain, 
Yet  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway,  25 

The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touched  in  vain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more  1     Enchantress,  wake  again ! 


THE  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 

Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 

And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made  30 

In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade ; 

But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 

The  deep-mouthed  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way,  35 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne, 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

ii 

As  chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call, 

*  To  arms  !  the  foemen  storm  the  wall,' 

The  antlered  monarch  of  the  waste x  40 

Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 

1  Wilderness. 


Canto  I  39 

But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 

The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook  ; 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 

Tossed  his  beamed  frontlet l  to  the  sky ;  45 

A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 

A  moment  snuffed  the  tainted  gale, 

A  moment  listened  to  the  cry 

That  thickened  as  the  chase  drew  nigh  ; 

Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appeared,  50 

With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 

And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 

Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

in 

Yelled  on  the  view  the  opening  pack  ; 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back ;  55 

To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awakened  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bayed  deep  and  strong, 
Clattered  a  hundred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out,  60 

A  hundred  voices  joined  the  shout ; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew. 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cowered  the  doe,  65 

The  falcon,  from  her  cairn2  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout3  a  wondering  eye, 

1  Antlcre4  forehead.  2  Rocky  heap.  3  Company. 


40  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Returned  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn,1 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 

IV 

Less  loud  the  sounds  of  sylvan  war 
Disturbed  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 
And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old ; 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun, 
And  many  a  gallant,  stayed  perforce,2 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse, 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near 
So  shrewdly 3  on  the  mountain-side 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 


The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wandered  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 

1  Ravine,  2  By  necessity.  8  Severely. 


Canto  I  41 

And  ponder'd  refuge  from  his  toil, 

By  far  Lochard  or  Aberfoyle. 

But  nearer  was  the  copsewood l  grey 

That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch  Achray,  95 

And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 

On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 

Fresh  vigour  with  the  hope  returned ; 

With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spurned, 

Held  westward  with  unwearied  race,  100 

And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 

VI 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er, 

As  swept  the  hunt  through  Cambus-more  ; 

What  reins  were  tightened  in  despair, 

When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air;  105 

Who  flagged  upon  Bochastle's  heath, 

Who  shunned  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, — 

For  twice  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 

The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 

Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far,  no 

That  reached  the  lake  of  Vennachar ; 

And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won, 

The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 

VII 

Alone,  but  with  unbated 2  zeal, 

That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ;    115 

1  Growth  of  shrubs  or  bushes.  2  Undiminjshed. 


42  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

For  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil, 

Embossed  with  foam,1  and  dark  with  soil, 

While  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew, 

The  labouring  stag  strained  full  in  view. 

Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed,         120 

Unmatched  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed, 

Fast  on. his  flying  traces  came, 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game ; 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch, 

Vindictive  toiled  the  bloodhounds  staunch  ;      125 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 

Nor  farther  might  the  quarry 2  strain. 

Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake, 

O'er  stock3  and  rock  their  race  they  take.        130 


VIII 

The  hunter  marked  that  mountain  high, 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary, 
And  deemed  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay, 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize,  135 

Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes ; 
For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo 
Mustered  his  breath,  his  whinyard 4  drew ;  — 
But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 

1  Foaming  with  exhaustion.         2  Hunted  animal.        8  Stump. 
*  Knife. 


Canto  I  43 

With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared,  140 

The  wily  quarry  shunned  the  shock, 

And  turned  him  from  the  opposing  rock ; 

Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 

Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 

In  the  deep  Trosachs'  wildest  nook  145 

His  solitary  refuge  took. 

There,  while  close  couched,  the  thicket  shed 

Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head, 

He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 

Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain,  150 

Chiding  the  rocks  that  yelled  again. 


IX 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came, 

To  cheer  them  on  the  vanished  game  ; 

But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 

The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell.  155 

The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 

To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 

For  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er, 

Stretched  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more  ; 

Then,  touched  with  pity  and  remorse,  160 

He  sorrowed  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 

'  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 

I  slacked  upon  the  banks  of  Seine,  » 

That  Highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 

On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed  1  16; 


44  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Woe  worth l  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
That  costs  thy  life,  my  gallant  grey  1  '• 


Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds, 

From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 

Back  limped,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace,       :;o 

The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase  ; 

Close  to  their  master's  side  they  pressed, 

With  drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest ; 

But  still  the  dingle's 2  hollow  throat 

Prolonged  the  swelling  bugle-note.  175 

The  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 

The  eagles  answered  with  their  scream, 

Round  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast, 

Till  echo  seemed  an  answering  blast; 

And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way,  180 

To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day  ; 

Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road, 

So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  showed. 

XI 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Rolled  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way ;  185 

Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below, 
1  Be  to.  2  Glen. 


Canto  I  45 

Where  twined  the  path,  in  shadow  hid,  190 

Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid, 

Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 

Its  thunder-splintered  pinnacle ; 

Round  many  an  insulated  mass, 

The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass,  195 

Huge  as  the  tower  which  builders  vain 

Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain. 

The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 

Formed  turret,  dome,  or  battlement, 

Or  seemed  fantastically  set  200 

With  cupola  or  minaret, 

Wild  crests  as  pagod l  ever  decked, 

Or  mosque  of  Eastern  architect. 

Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare, 

Nor  lacked  they  many  a  banner  fair ;  205 

For,  from  their  shivered  brows  displayed, 

Far  o'er  the  unfathomable  glade, 

All  twinkling  with  the  dewdrop  sheen,2 

The  brier-rose  fell  in  streamers  green, 

And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes,  210 

Waved  in  the  west-wind's  summer  sighs. 

XII 

Boon 3  nature  scattered,  free  and  wild, 
Each  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child. 
Here  eglantine  embalmed  the  air, 
Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingled  there ;  215 

1  Pagoda.  z  Bright.  3  Bountiful. 


46  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  primrose  pale,  and  violet  flower, 

Found  in  each  cleft  a  narrow  bower ; 

Fox-glove  and  night-shade,  side  by  side, 

Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 

Grouped  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain         220 

The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 

With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 

Grey  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath  ; 

Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 

Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock ;  225 

And,  higher  yet,  the  pine-tree  hung 

His  shattered  trunk,  and  frequent1  flung, 

Where  seemed  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 

His  boughs  athwart  the  narrowed  sky. 

Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced,       230 

Where  glistening  streamers  waved  and  danced, 

The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 

The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue  ; 

So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 

The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream.  235 

XIII 

Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 

A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 

Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim 

As  served  the  wild  duck's  brood  to  swim. 

Lost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering,       240 

1  In  abundance. 


Canto   I  47 

But  broader  when  again  appearing, 

Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 

Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace  ; 

And  farther  as  the  hunter  strayed, 

Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made.  245 

The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood, 

Emerging  from  entangled  wood, 

But,  wave-encircled,  seemed  to  float, 

Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat ; 

Yet  broader  floods  extending  still  250 

Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 

Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 

An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 


XIV 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 

No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken,1  255 

Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 

A  far  projecting  precipice. 

The  broom's  tough  roots  his  ladder  made, 

The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid  ; 

And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won,  260 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 

One  burnished  sheet  of  living  gold, 

Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  him  rolled  ; 

In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 

With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay,  265 

1  View. 


48  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 

Floated  amid  the  livelier  light, 

And  mountains  that  like  giants  stand 

To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue  270 

Down  to  the  lake  in  masses  threw 

Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurled, 

The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 

A  wildering l  forest  feathered  o'er 

His  ruined  sides  and  summit  hoar,  275 

While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 

Ben-an  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare. 

xv 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed 

The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed. 

And,  '  What  a  scene  were  here,'  he  cried,         280 

'  For  princely  pomp  or  churchman's  pride  ! 

On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower ; 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower; 

On  yonder  meadow,  far  away, 

The  turrets  of  a  cloister  grey  ;  285 

How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 

Chide  on  the  lake  the  lingering  morn  1 

How  sweet  at  eve  the  lover's  lute 

Chime  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute ! 

And  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave        290 

1  Bewildering. 


Canto   I  49 

Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 

How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 

The  holy  matins'  distant  hum, 

While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tone 

Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone,  295 

A  sainted  hermit  from  his  cell, 

To  drop  a  bead  with  every  knell ! 

And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all, 

Should  each  bewildered  stranger  call 

To  friendly  feast  and  lighted  hall.  300 


XVI 

'  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here  ! 
But  now  —  beshrew  yon  nimble  deer  — 
Like  that  same  hermit's,  thin  and  spare, 
The  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare  ; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be,  305 

Some  rustling  oak  my  canopy. 
Yet  pass  we  that ;  the  war  and  chase 
Give  little  choice  of  resting-place  ;  — 
A  summer  night  in  greenwood  spent 
Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment :  310 

But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound, 
Such  as  are  better  missed  than  found ; 
To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here, 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer.  — 
I  am  alone  ;  —  my  bugle-strain  315 

May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train  ; 

LADY   OF  THE   LAKE  —  4 


The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 
Ere  now  this  falchion1  has  been  tried.' 

XVII 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound, 
When  lo  !  forth  starting  at  the  sound,  320 

From  underneath  an  aged  oak 
That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 
A  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 
A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay, 
That  round  the  promontory  steep  325 

Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep, 
Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave, 
The  weeping  willow  twig  to  lave, 
And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 
The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow.  330 

The  boat  had  touched  this  silver  strand, 
Just  as  the  hunter  left  his  stand, 
And  stood  concealed  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake. 
The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again  335 

She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 
With  head  upraised,  and  look  intent, 
And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent, 
And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 
Like  monument  of  Grecian  art,  340 

In  listening  mood,  she  seemed  to  stand, 
The  guardian  Naiad 2  of  the  strand. 
1  Short  sword.  2  Water-nymph. 


Canto  I  51 

! 

XVIII 

And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 

A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 

Of  finer  form  or  lovelier  face  !  345 

What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown, 

Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown, — 

The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 

Had  dyed  her  glowing  hue  so  bright, 

Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show  350 

Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow : 

What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 

To  measured  mood  had  trained  her  pace,  — 

A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 

Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dashed  the  dew ;  355 

E'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head, 

Elastic  from  her  airy  tread  : 

What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 

The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue,  — 

Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear.  360 

The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear ! 

XIX 

A  chieftain's  daughter  seemed  the  maid  ; 
Her  satin  snood,1  her  silken  plaid, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betrayed. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid  365 

Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 

1  Hair-ribbon. 


52  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair, 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care, 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye  ; 
Not  Katrine  in  her  mirror  blue 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true, 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confessed 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  j^ity  claimed  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  poured  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  called  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unrevealed 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  concealed, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame ; 
O  !  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  ? 

xx 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 

Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne :  — 

'  Father  ! '  she  cried  ;  the  rocks  around 

Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 

A  while  she  paused  ;  no  answer  came.  — 


Canto  I  53 

'  Malcolm,  was  thine  the  blast  ? '  the  name 

Less  resolutely  uttered  fell ;  395 

The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 

'  A  stranger  I,'  the  huntsman  said, 

Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 

The  maid,  alarmed,  with  hasty  oar 

Pushed  her  light  shallop1  from  the  shore,         400 

And  when  a  space  was  gained  between, 

Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen  ; 

(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing 

So  turn  to  prune2  his  ruffled  wing.) 

Then  safe,  though  fluttered  and  amazed,          405 

She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 

Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, 

That  youthful  maidens  wont 3  to  fly. 

XXI 

On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 

Had  slightly  pressed  its  signet4  sage,  410 

Yet  had  not  quenched  the  open  truth 

And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth  ; 

Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 

The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare, 

The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire,         415 

Of  hasty  love  or  headlong  ire. 

His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 

For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold  ; 

1  Boat.          2  Arrange.  8  Are  accustomed.          4  Seal. 


54  The   Lady   of  the   Lake 

And  though  in  peaceful  garb  arrayed, 

And  weaponless,  except  his  blade,  4: 

His  stately  mien  as  well  implied* 

A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 

As  if  a  baron's  crest  he  wore, 

And  sheathed  in  armour  trode  the  shore. 

Slighting  the  petty  need  he  showed,  4: 

He  told  of  his  benighted 1  road  ; 

His  ready  speech  flowed  fair  and  free, 

In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy ; 

Yet  seemed  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 

Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command.  4j 

XXII 

A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed, 
And,  reassured,  at  length  replied, 
That  Highland  halls  were  open  still2 
To  wildered 3  wanderers  of  the  hill. 
1  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come  4j 

To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home ; 
Before  the  heath  hath  lost  the  dew, 
This  morn,  a  couch  was  pulled  for  you ; 
On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 
Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled,  4< 

And  our  broad  nets  have  swept  the  mere,4 
To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer.'  — 
'  Now,  by  the  rood,5  my  lovely  maid, 
Your  courtesy  has  erred,'  he  said  ; 
1  Lost.         2  Always.         8  Bewildered.         4  Lake.         5  Cross. 


Canto  I  55 

1  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced,  445 

The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 

A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost, 

My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 

I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair, 

Have  ever  drawn  your  mountain  air,  450 

Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand, 

I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land  ! '  — 

XXIII 

'  I  well  believe,'  the  maid  replied, 

As  her  light  skiff  approached  the  side,  — 

'  I  well  believe  that  ne'er  before  455 

Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore ; 

But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 

Old  Allan-Bane  foretold  your  plight,  — 

A  grey-haired  sire,  whose  eye  intent 

Was  on  the  visioned  future  bent.  460 

He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  grey, 

Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way ; 

Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien, 

Your  hunting-suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

That  tasselled  horn  so  gaily  gilt,  465 

That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt, 

That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim, 

And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 

He  bade  that  all  should  ready  be 

To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree  ;  470 

But  light  I  held  his  prophecy, 


56  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  deemed  it  was  my  father's  horn, 
Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne.' 

XXIV 

« 
The  stranger  smiled :  — '  Since  to  your  home 

A  destined  errant-knight  I  come,  475 

Announced  by  prophet  sooth l  and  old, 

Doomed,  doubtless,  for  achievement  bold, 

I'll  lightly  front  each  high  emprise,2 

For  one  kind  glance  of  those  bright  eyes. 

Permit  me  first  the  task  to  guide  480 

Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide.' 

The  maid,  with  smile  suppressed  and  sly,  . 

The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try ; 

For  seldom  sure,  if  e'er  before, 

His  noble  hand  had  grasped  an  oar :  485 

Yet  with  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew, 

And  o'er  the  lake  the  shallop  flew ; 

With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry, 

The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 

Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break  490 

The  dark'ning  mirror  of  the  lake, 

Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach, 

And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

XXV 

The  stranger  viewed  the  shore  around ; 

'Twas  all  so  close  with  copsewood  bound,        495 

1  True,  2  Undertaking. 


Canto   I        .  57 

Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 

That  human  foot  frequented  there, 

Until  the  mountain  maiden  showed 

A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 

That  winded  through  the  tangled  screen,  500 

And  opened  on  a  narrow  green, 

Where  weeping  birch  and  willow  round 

With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 

Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.  505 

XXVI 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device ; 

Of  such  materials  as  around 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopped  of  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared,  510 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared, 

To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 

While  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind.  515 

The  lighter  pine-trees  overhead 

Their  slender  length  for  rafters  spread, 

And  withered  heath  and  rushes  dry 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green,  520 

A  rural  portico  was  seen, 


58  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne 

Of  mountain  fir,  with  bark  unshorn, 

Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 

The  ivy  and  Idaean  vine,  525 

The  clematis,  the  favoured  flower 

Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin-bower, 

And  every  hardy  plant  could  bear 

Loch  Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 

An  instant  in  this  porch  she  staid,  530 

And  gaily  to  the  stranger  said : 

'  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 

And  enter  the  enchanted  hall  1 ' 


XXVII 

'  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 

My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee  ! '  535 

He  crossed  the  threshold  —  and  a  clang 

Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 

To  his  bold  brow  his  spirit  rushed, 

But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blushed, 

When  on  the  floor  he  saw  displayed,  540 

Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 

Dropped  from  the  sheath  that,  careless  flung, 

Upon  a  stag's  huge  antlers  swung ; 

For  all  around,  the  walls  to  grace, 

Hung  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase  :  545 

A  target  there,  a  bugle  here, 

A  battle-ax,  a  hunting-spear, 


Canto   I  59 

And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store,1 

With  the  tusked  trophies  of  the  boar. 

Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died,  550 

And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 

The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns, 

Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns; 

Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stained, 

That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retained,       555 

And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun,  and  white, 

With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 

In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all, 

To  garnish  forth  the  sylvan  hall. 

XXVIII 

The  wandering  stranger  round  him  gazed,       560 

And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised  :  — 

Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 

Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length  : 

And  as  the  brand  2  he  poised  and  swayed 

'  I  never  knew  but  one,'  he  said,  565 

'  Whose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wield 

A  blade  like  this  in  battle-field.' 

She  sighed,  then  smiled  and  took  the  word  : 

'You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword  ; 

As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand  570 

As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand ; 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 

Of  Ferragus  or  Ascabart ; 

1  In  abundance.        '  2  Sword. 


60  The  Lady  of  the   Lake 

But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold l 

Are  women  now,  and  menials2  old/  575 


XXIX 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 

Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame  ; 

Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 

Had  well  become  a  princely  court ; 

To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew,     580 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due. 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 

And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid 

That  hospitality  could  claim, 

Though  all  unasked  his  birth  and  name.  585 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest, 

That  fellest3  foe  might  join  the  feast, 

And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 

Unquestioned  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

At  length  his  rank  the  stranger  names,  —        590 

'  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James  ; 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage, 

Which  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age, 

By  their  good  swords  had  held  with  toil ; 

His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil,  595 

And  he,  God  wot,4  was  forced  to  stand 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

This  morning,  with  Lord  Moray's  train, 

1  Castle.  2  Servants.  8  Deadliest.  *  Knows. 


Canto  I  6 1 

He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 

Outstripped  his  comrades,  missed  the  deer,     600 

Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wandered  here.' 

XXX 

Fain  would  the  knight  in  turn  require1 

The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire. 

Well  showed  the  elder  lady's  mien 

That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen ;  605 

Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  displayed 

The  simple  grace  of  sylvan  maid, 

In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face, 

Showed  she  was  come  of  gentle  race. 

'Twere  strange  in  ruder  rank  to  find  610 

Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 

Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 

Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave  ; 

Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay, 

Turned  all  inquiry  light  away :  —  615 

'  Weird  women 2  we !  by  dale  and  down 

We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 

We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast, 

On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast ; 

While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string,        620 

'Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing.' 

She  sung,  and  still3  a  harp  unseen 

Filled  up  the  symphony  between. 

1  Ask.  2  Witches.  3  Always. 


62  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

XXXI 
SONG 

'  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking ; 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

'  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear, 

Armour's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 
Trump  nor  pibroch  1  summon  here 

Mustering  clan  or  squadron  tramping. 
Yet*  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

At  the  day-break  from  the  fallow,2 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy 3  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 

Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here, 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadron's  stamping.' 

1  Air  played  on  a  bagpipe.  2  Ploughed  land. 

8  Grassy  (overgrown  with  sedge). 


Canto   I  63 

) 

XXXII 

She  paused  —  then,  blushing,  led  the  lay 

To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 

Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong  650 

The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 

Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 

The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

SONG    CONTINUED 

'  Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done  ; 

While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye,  655 

Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun, 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille".1 
Sleep  !  the  deer  is  in  his  den  ; 

Sleep  !  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying ; 
Sleep  !  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen  660 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done, 
Think  not  of  the  rising  sun, 
For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye 
Here  no  bugles  sound  reveille".'  665 

XXXIII 

The  hall  was  cleared  —  the  stranger's  bed 
Was  there  of  mountain  heather  spread, 
Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain, 
And  dreamed  their  forest  sports  again. 

1  Awakening  rail. 


The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed  670 

Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head ; 

Not  Ellen's  spell  had  lulled  to  rest 

The  fever  of  his  troubled  breast. 

In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 

Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woes  :  675 

His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 

Now  sinks  his  barge  upon  the  lake  ; 

Now  leader  of  a  broken  host, 

His  standard  falls,  his  honour's  lost. 

Then, — from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might  680 

Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night !  — 

Again  returned  the  scenes  of  youth, 

Of  confident  undoubting  truth  ; 

Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 

With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 

They  come,  in  dim  procession  led,  686 

The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead  ; 

As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 

As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 

And  doubt  distracts  him  at  the  view —  690 

O  were  his  senses  false  or  true  ? 

Dreamed  he  of  death,  or  broken  vow, 

Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now  ? 

xxxiv 

At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

He  seemed  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love ;  695 

She  listened  with  a  blush  and  sigh, 


Canto   I  65 

His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high. 

He  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 

And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp : 

The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone,      700 

Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone ; 

Slowly  enlarged  to  giant  size, 

With  darkened  cheek  and  threatening  eyes, 

The  grisly 1  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  Ellen  still  a  likeness  bore.  —  705 

He  woke,  and,  panting  with  affright, 

Recalled  the  vision  of  the  night. 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands 2  were  red, 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed, 

Half  showing,  half  concealing,  all  710 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Mid  those  the  stranger  fixed  his  eye, 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high, 

And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng, 

Rushed,  chasing  countless  thoughts  along,       715 

Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure, 

He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

xxxv 

The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom, 

Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume  ; 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm,  720 

The  aspens  slept  beneath  the  calm  ; 

1  Horrid.  2  Embers. 

LADY   OF  THE   LAKE — 5 


66  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  silver  light,  with  quivering  glance, 

Played  on  the  water's  still  expanse,  — 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passion's  sway 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray  1  725 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast :  — 

'  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race  ? 

Can  I  not  mountain  maiden  spy,  730 

But  she  must  bear  the  Douglas  eye  ? 

Can  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand, 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand  ? 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fevered  dream, 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme  ?  735 

I'll  dream  no  more  —  by  manly  mind 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  will  resigned. 

My  midnight  orisons1  said  o'er, 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more.' 

His  midnight  orisons  he  told,  740 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold, 

Consigned  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes, 

And  sunk  in  undisturbed  repose  ; 

Until  the  heath-cock  shrilly  crew, 

And  morning  dawned  on  Benvenue.  745 

1  Prayers. 


CANTO   SECOND 

THE   ISLAND 

i 
AT  morn  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty1  wing, 

'Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  blithest  lay, 
All  Nature's  children  feel  the  matin  spring 

Of  life  reviving,  with  reviving  day ; 
And  while  yon  little  bark  glides  down  the  bay,  5 

Wafting  the  stranger  on  his  way  again, 
Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  grey, 

And  sweetly  o'er  the  lake  was  heard  thy  strain, 
Mixed  with  the  sounding  harp,  O  white-haired  Allan- 
Bane  ! 

II 

SONG 
'  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might  10 

Flings  from  their  oars  the  spray, 
Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright, 
That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light, 

Melts  in  the  lake  away, 

Than  men  from  memory  erase  15 

The  benefits  of  former  days  ; 
Then,  stranger,  go !  good  speed  the  while, 
Nor  think  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

i  Black. 
67 


68  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court, 

High  place  in  battled  line,  20 

Good  hawk  and  hound  for  sylvan  sport ! 
Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort, 

The  honoured  meed 1  be  thine  ! 
True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere, 
Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear,  25 

And  lost  in  love's  and  friendship's  smile 
Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

in 

SONG   CONTINUED 

'  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

A  plaided  stranger  roam, 

Whose  drooping  crest  and  stifled  sigh,  30 

And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye, 

Pine  for  his  Highland  home ; 
Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 
The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe; 
Remember  then  thy  hap  erewhile,  35 

A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

'Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

Mishap  shall  mar  thy  sail ; 
If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain, 
Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain  40 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale  ; 
Waste  not  a  sigh  on  fortune  changed, 

1  Reward. 


Canto   II  69 

On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged, 

But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile, 

To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle.'  45 

IV 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide, 

The  shallop  reached  the  mainland  side, 

And  ere  his  onward  way  he  took, 

The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 

Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach  50 

The  harper  on  the  islet  beach, 

Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree, 

As  wasted,  grey,  and  worn  as  he. 

To  minstrel  meditation  given, 

His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven,  55 

As  from  the  rising  sun  to  claim 

A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 

His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire, 

Seemed  watching  the  awakening  fire  ; 

So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait  60 

Till  judgement  speak  the  doom  of  fate  ; 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair  ; 

So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped.  65 


Upon  a  rock  with  lichens  wild, 
Beside  him  Ellen  sat  and  smiled.  — 


70  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 
,Lead  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake, 
While  her  vexed  spaniel  from  the  beach  70 

Bayed  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach. 
Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows, 
Why  deepened  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ?  — 
Forgive,  forgive,  Fidelity ! 

Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see  75 

Yon  parting  lingerer  wave  adieu, 
And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew ; 
And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 
Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre, 
Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy  80 

And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye  1 


VI 

While  yet  he  loitered  on  the  spot, 

It  seemed  as  Ellen  marked  him  not ; 

But  when  he  turned  him  to  the  glade, 

One  courteous  parting  sign  she  made ;  85 

And  after,  oft  the  knight  would  say, 

That  not,  when  prize  of  festal  day 

Was  dealt  him  by  the  brightest  fair 

Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hair, 

So  highly  did  his  bosom  swell,  90 

As  at  that  simple  mute  farewell. 

Now  with  a  trusty  mountain-guide, 

And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side, 


Canto  II  71 

He  parts1  —  the  maid,  unconscious  still, 

Watched  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill ;  95 

But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 

The  guardian  in  her  bosom  chid  — 

'  Thy  Malcolm  !  vain  and  selfish  maid  ! ' 

'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said,  — 

'  Not  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung  ico 

On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue  ; 

Not  so  had  Malcolm  strained  his  eye, 

Another  step  than  thine  to  spy.  — 

'  Wake,  Allan-Bane,'  aloud  she  cried 

To  the  old  minstrel  by  her  side,  —  105 

'  Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream, 

I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme, 

And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name ; 

Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Graeme ! ' 

Scarce  from  her  lip  the  word  had  rushed,         no 

When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blushed  ; 

For  of  his  clan,  in  hall  and  bower,2 

Young  Malcolm  Graeme  was  held  the  flower. 

VII 

The  minstrel  waked  his  harp  —  three  times 
Arose  the  well-known  martial  chimes,  115 

And  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 
In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 
'  Vainly  thou  bidst,  O  noble  maid,' 
Clasping  his  withered  hands,  he  said, 
1  Departs.  2  Apartment  of  the  women. 


72  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'Vainly  thou  bidst  me  wake  the  strain,  120 

Though  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 

Alas  !  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 

Has  tuned  my  harp,  my  strings  has  spanned  ! * 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  woe  ;  125 

And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread, 

Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 

O  well  for  me,  if  mine  alone 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone ! 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said,  130 

This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  swayed, 

Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell, 

Then  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell  1 

VIII 

'  But  ah  !  dear  lady,  thus  it  sighed 
The  eve  thy  sainted  mother  died  ;  135 

And  such  the  sounds  which,  while  I  strove 
To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 
Came  marring  all  the  festal  mirth, 
Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birth, 
And,  disobedient  to  my  call,  14° 

Wailed  loud  through  Bothwell's  bannered  hall, 
Ere  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven, 
Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven.  — 
Oh  !  if  yet  worse  mishap  and  woe 
My  master's  house  must  undergo,  145 

1  Covered  with  the  hand. 


Canto  II  73 

Or  aught  but  weal l  to  Ellen  fair 

Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair, 

No  future  bard,  sad  Harp  !  shall  fling 

Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string ; 

One  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow,  150 

Fraught  with  unutterable  woe, 

Then  shivered  shall  thy  fragments  lie, 

Thy  master  cast  him  down  and  die! ' 

IX 

Soothing  she  answer'd  him :  '  Assuage, 
Mine  honoured  friend,  the  fears  of  age ;  155 

All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 
That  harp  has  rung,  or  pipe  has  blown, 
In  Lowland  vale  or  Highland  glen, 
From  Tweed  to  Spey  —  what  marvel,  then, 
At  times  unbidden  notes  should  rise,  160 

Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 
Entangling,  as  they  rush  along, 
The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song  ?  — 
Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear  ; 
Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here.  165 

My  sire,  in  native  virtue  great, 
Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state, 
Not  then  to  fortune  more  resigned 
Than  yonder  oak  might  give 2  the  wind ; 
The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave,3  170 

The  noble  stem  they  cannot  grieve. 
1  Good  fortune.  2  I.e.,  yield  to.  3  Tear  away. 


74  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

For  me,'  —  she  stooped,  and,  looking  round, 

Plucked  a  blue  harebell  from  the  ground,  — 

'  For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  conveys 

An  image  of  more  splendid  days,  175 

This  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 

May  well  my  simple  emblem  be  ; 

It  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose 

That  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows ; 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair,  180 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair.' 

Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 

She  wreathed  in  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled. 


Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway,       185 

Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 

With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw, 

When  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe, 

He  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 

Thrilled  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied :  190 

'  Loveliest  and  best !  thou  little  know'st 

The  rank,  the  honours,  thou  hast  lost  I 

O  might  I  live  to  see  thee  grace, 

In  Scotland's  court,  thy  birth-right  place, 

To  see  my  favourite's  step  advance,  195 

The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance, 

The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh, 

And  leading  star  of  every  eye, 


Canto   II  75 

And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art, 

The  Lady  of  the  Bleeding  Heart  I '  200 

XI 

'  Fair  dreams  are  these,'  the  maiden  cried, 

(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sighed ;) 

'  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 

Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy  ; 

Nor  would  my  footstep  spring  more  gay  205 

In  courtly  dance  than  blithe  strathspey,1 

Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 

To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine. 

And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 

To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, —  210 

Thou,  flattering  bard !  thyself  wilt  say, 

That  grim  Sir  Roderick  owns  its  sway. 

The  Saxon's  scourge,  Clan-Alpine's  pride, 

The  terror  of  Loch  Lomond's  side, 

Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st,  delay  215 

A  Lennox  foray2  —  for  a  day.'  — 

XII 

The  ancient  bard  her  glee  repressed : 
'  111  hast  thou  chosen  theme  for  jest ! 
For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild, 
Named  Black  Sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smiled  ?  220 
In  Holy- Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ; 
I  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew, 
1  Highland  dance.  2  Raid. 


76  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 

Of  the  undaunted  homicide ; 

And  since,  though  outlawed,  hath  his  hand      225 

Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 

Who  else  dared  give  —  ah  !  woe  the  day, 

That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say  — 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 

Disowned  by  every  noble  peer,  230 

Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 

Alas  !  this  wild  marauding  chief 

Alone  might  hazard  our  relief, 

And,  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 

Looks  for  his  guerdon  l  in  thy  hand  ;  235 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought. 

To  back  his  suit,  from  Rome  be  brought. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear  ;  240 

And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear, 

That  thou  mightst  guide  with  silken  thread, 

Slave  of  thy  will,  this  chieftain  dread, 

Yet,  O  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain  1 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane.' —  245 

XIII 

'  Minstrel,'  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 

1  Reward. 


Canto   II  77 

'  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know : 

All  that  a  mother  could  bestow, 

To  Lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe,  250 

Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 

She  sorrowed  o'er  her  sister's  child ; 

To  her  brave  chieftain  son,  from  ire 

Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds1  my  sire, 

A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed  ;  255 

And,  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 

Allan  !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 

My  blood,  my  life,  —  but  not  my  hand. 

Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 

A  votaress  2  in  Maronnan's  cell ;  260 

Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 

Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity, 

Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 

And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 

An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove,  265 

Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love. 


XIV 

'  Thou  shak'st,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  grey,  — 

That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 

But  what  I  own  ?  —  I  grant  him  brave, 

But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave  ;        270 

And  generous  —  save  vindictive  mood, 

Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  his  blood  : 

1  Protects.  2  Nun. 


78  The  Lady  of  the   Lake 

I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band, 
As  his  claymore 1  is  to  his  hand  ; 
But  O  !  that  very  blade  of  steel 
More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel : 
I  grant  him  liberal,  to  fling 
Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring, 
When  back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 
And  in  the  Lowland  leave  behind, 
Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 
A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 
The  hand  that  for  my  father  fought 
I  honour,  as  his  daughter  ought ; 
But  can  I  clasp  it  reeking  red 
From  peasants  slaughtered  in  their  shed  ? 
No !  wildly  while  his  virtues  gleam, 
They  make  his  passions  darker  seem, 
And  flash  along  his  spirit  high, 
Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 
While  yet  a  child,  —  and  children  know, 
Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe,  — 
I  shuddered  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 
His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume ; 
A  maiden  grown,  I  ill  could  bear 
His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air : 
But,  if  thou  join'st  a  suitor's  claim, 
In  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 
I  thrill  with  anguish  !  or,  if  e'er 
A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 
1  Large  sword. 


Canto  II  79 

To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best,  — 
What  thinkst  thou  of  our  stranger  guest  ? '  — 

xv 

'  What  think  I  of  him  ?  —  woe  the  while 
That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle  1 
Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore  305 

For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore, 
What  time l  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 
His  Border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows, 
Did,  self-unscabbarded,  foreshow 
The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe.  310 

If  courtly  spy  hath  harboured  here, 
What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear  ? 
What  for  this  island,  deemed  of  old 
Clan- Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 
If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray  315 

What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say  ? 
—  Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head, 
Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 
That  kindled,  when  at  Beltane  game 
Thou  ledst  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Graeme  ;  320 
Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renewed, 
Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud. 
Beware  !  —  But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these  ? 
My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze  ; 
No  weeping  birch  nor  aspens  wake,  325 

Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake  ; 
1  At  the  time  when. 


• 

8o  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Still  is  the  canna's 1  hoary  beard ; 
Yet,  by  my  minstrel  faith,  I  heard  — 
And  hark  again  !  some  pipe  of  war 
Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar.' 

XVI 

Far  up  the  lengthened  lake  were  spied 
Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 
Four  manned  and  masted  barges  grew, 
And,  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 
Steered  full  upon  the  lonely  isle  ; 
The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  passed, 
And,  to  the  windward  as  they  cast, 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 
The  bold  Sir  Roderick's  bannered  Pine. 
Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear, 
Spears,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 
Now  might  you  see  the  tartans 2  brave, 
And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave : 
Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 
As  his  tough  oar  the  rower  plies ; 
See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 
The  wave  ascending  into  smoke  ; 
See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow, 
And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 
From  their  loud  chanters 3  down,  and  sweep 
The  furrowed  bosom  of  the  deep, 
1  Cotton-grass.        2  Plaid  woollens.        8  Pipes  (of  the  bagpipe). 


Canto   II  8 1 

As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain, 
They  plied  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

XVII 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud  355 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 
At  first  the  sounds,  by  distance  tame, 
Mellowed  along  the  waters  came, 
And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay, 
Wailed  every  harsher  note  away ;  360 

Then,  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear, 
The  clan's  shrill  Gathering 1  they  could  hear,  — 
Those  thrilling  sounds  that  call  the  might 
Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight. 
Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when  365 

The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 
And,  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread, 
The  battered  earth  returns  their  tread. 
Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 
Expressed  their  merry  marching  on,  370 

Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose, 
With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows ; 
And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward, 
As  broadsword  upon  target  jarred  ; 
And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again,  375 

Condensed,  the  battle  yelled  amain  ; 
The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 
Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 
1  Summons  to  a  gathering. 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE  —  6 


82  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 

Clan-Alpine's  conquest  —  all  were  there.          380 

Nor  ended  thus  the  strain  ;  but  slow, 

Sunk  in  a  moan  prolonged  and  low, 

And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 

For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

XVIII 

The  war-pipes  ceased  ;  but  lake  and  hill          385 

Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still ; 

And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 

Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 

While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 

Their  voices  in  their  chieftain's  praise.  390 

Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar, 

With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore, 

In  such  wild  cadence  as  the  breeze 

Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 

The  chorus  first  could  Allan  know,  395 

'  Roderick  Vich  Alpine,1  ho  !  iro  1 ' 

And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  rowed, 

Distinct  the  martial  ditty  flowed. 

xrx 

BOAT   SONG 

'  Hail  to  the  chief  who  in  triumph  advances  ! 

Honoured  and  blessed  be  the  ever-green  Pine  1     400 

1  Descendant  of  Alpine. 


Canto   II  83 

Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances, 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line  ! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bourgeon,1  and  broadly  to  grow,  405 

While  every  Highland  glen 

Sends  our  shout  back  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe  1  " 

'  Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade ;  410 

When  the  whirlwind  has  stripped  every  leaf  on  the 

mountain, 

The  more  shall  Clan-Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moored  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 

Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ;  415 

Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 
Echo  his  praise  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !  " 

xx 

SONG    CONTINUED 

'  Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrilled  in  Glen  Fruin, 

And  Bannochar's  groans  to  our  slogan 2  replied  ;  420 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. 

1  Bud.  2  War-cry. 


84  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Widow  and  Saxon  maid 

Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan-Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe  ;      425 

Lennox  and  Leven-Glen 

Shake  when  they  hear  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !  " 

'  Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands  ! 

Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever-green  Pine !       430 
O  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands 

Were  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine  ! 

O  that  some  seedling  gem, 

Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honoured  and  blessed  in  their  shadow  might  grow  ! 

Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then  436 

Ring  from  her  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !  " 

XXI 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band, 

Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand.  440 

Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew, 

And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw, 

As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 

And  chorus  wild,  the  chieftain's  name ; 

While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art,     445 

The  darling  passion  of  his  heart, 

The  Dame  called  Ellen  to  the  strand, 

To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land  : 


Canto   II  85 

'  Come,  loiterer,  come  !  a  Douglas  thou, 

And  shun  to  wreathe  a  victor's  brow  ?  '  450 

Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 

The  unwelcome  summoning  obeyed, 

And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 

In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung :  — 

'  List,  Allan-Bane  !     From  mainland  cast,         455 

I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 

Be  ours,'  she  cried,  'the  skiff  to  guide, 

And  waft  him  from  the  mountain-side.' 

Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 

She  darted  to  her  shallop  light,  460  • 

And,  eagerly  while  Roderick  scanned, 

For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band, 

The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 

And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

XXII 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given,  465 

With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven : 

And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 

From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 

A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 

It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek,  470 

'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 

Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head  ! 

And  as  the  Douglas  to  his  breast 

His  darling  Ellen  closely  pressed, 


86  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steeped,  4/5 

Though  'twas  an  hero's  eye  that  weeped. 
Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 
Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 
Marked  she,  that  fear  (affection's  proof) 
Still  held  a  graceful  youth  aloof ;  480 

No !  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

XXIII 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 

Marked  Roderick  landing  on 'the  isle  ; 

His  master  piteously  he  eyed,  485 

Then  gazed  upon  the  chieftain's  pride, 

Then  dashed  with  hasty  hand  away 

From  his  dimmed  eye  the  gathering  spray ; 

And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 

On  Malcolm's  shoulders,  kindly  said,  490 

'  Canst  thou,  young  friend,  no  meaning  spy 

In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  ? 

I'll  tell  thee  :  —  he  recalls  the  day, 

When  in  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 

O'er  the  arched  gate  of  Bothwell  proud,  495 

While  many  a  minstrel  answered  loud, 

When  Percy's  Norman  pennon,  won 

In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone, 

And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 

As  mighty  as  yon  chief  may  claim,  500 


Canto  II  87 

i 

Gracing  my  pomp,1  behind  me  came. 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 

Was  I  of  all  that  marshalled  crowd, 

Though  the  waned  crescent  owned  my  might, 

And  in  my  train  trooped  lord  and  knight,         505 

Though  Blantyre  hymned  her  holiest  lays, 

And  Bothwell's  bards  flung  back  my  praise, 

As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear, 

And  this  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 

A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true  510 

Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 

Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast,  — 

O,  it  out-beggars  all  I  lost  1 ' 

XXIV 

Delightful  praise  !  —  Like  summer  rose, 

That  brighter  in  the  dew-drop  glows,  515 

The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appeared, 

For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Malcolm  heard. 

The  flush  of  shame-faced  joy  to  hide, 

The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide  ; 

The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid  520 

The  dogs  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid ; 

And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 

The  falcon  took  his  favourite  stand, 

Closed  his  dark  wing,  relaxed  his  eye, 

Nor,  though  unhooded,  sought  to  fly.  525 

1  Procession, 


88  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And,  trust,  while  in  such  guise  she  stood, 
Like  fabled  goddess  of  the  wood, 
That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 
O'erweighed  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 
Well  might  the  lover's  judgement  fail 
To  balance  with  a  juster  scale  ; 
For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 
The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 


XXV 

Of  stature  fair,  and  slender  frame, 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Graeme.  535 

The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose } 

His  flaxen  hair,  of  sunny  hue, 

Curled  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 

Trained  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye  540 

The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy : 

Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith ; 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark-brown  doe, 

When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow  ;  545 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  winged  with  fear, 

Outstripped  in  speed  the  mountaineer  : 

Right  up  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind  550 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind ; 


Canto  II  89 

t 

A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame  ; 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast 

As  played  the  feather  on  his  crest.  555 

Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 

His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth, 

And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 

When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 

Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown,         560 

Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 

Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame, 

But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Graeme. 

XXVI 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way, 

And,  '  O  my  sire  ! '  did  Ellen  say,  565 

'  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray  ? 

And  why  so  late  returned  ?  —  and  why '  — 

The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 

'  My  child,  the  chase  I  follow  far, 

'Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war ;  570 

And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft1 

Were  all  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 

I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  strayed 

Far  eastward,  in  Glenfmlas'  shade. 

Nor  strayed  I  safe  ;  for  all  around  575 

Hunters  and  horsemen  scoured  the  ground. 

1  Taken  away. 


90  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

This  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward, 
Risked  life  and  land  to  be  my  guard, 
And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood 
Guided  my  steps,  not  un pursued  ; 
And  Roderick  shall  his  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 
Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  aught  for  me  again.' 

xxvn 

Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Reddened  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Graeme, 
Yet  not  in  action,  word,  or  eye, 
Failed  aught  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 
But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight, 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared, 
That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 
Deep  thought  seemed  toiling  in  his  head ; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made, 
Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame 
His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 
And  Ellen  too ;  then  cast  around 
His  eyes,  then  fixed  them  on  the  ground, 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 


Canto   II  91 

Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  played, 
Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  and  said :  — 

XXVIII 

'  Short  be  my  speech  ;  —  nor  time  affords,        605 
Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing l  words. 
Kinsman  and  father,  —  if  such  name 
Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim ; 
Mine  honoured  mother  ;  —  Ellen  —  why, 
My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye  ?  —  610 

And  Graeme  ;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 
Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe, 
When  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command 
And  leading  in  thy  native  land,  — 
List  all !  —  The  king's  vindictive  pride  615 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side, 
Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 
To  share  their  monarch's  sylvan  game, 
Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared  ; 
And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared,  620 

And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung, 
O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 
Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Meggat's  mead, 
From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 
Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide,  625 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side  ; 
The  dales,  where  martial  clans  did  ride, 
Are  now  one  sheep-walk,  waste  and  wide. 
1  Smooth,  insincere. 


92  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 

So  faithless  and  so  ruthless  known,  630 

Now  hither  comes  ;  his  end  the  same, 

The  same  pretext  of  sylvan  game. 

What  grace  for  Highland  chiefs,  judge  ye 

By  fate  of  border  chivalry. 

Yet  more  ;  amid  Glenfmlas'  green,  635 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen  — 

This  by  espial l  sure  I  know  : 

Your  counsel,  in  the  streight 2  I  show  ? ' 

XXIX 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye,  640 

Then  turn'd  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 

This  to  her  sire  — that  to  her  son. 

The  hasty  colour  went  and  came 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcolm  Graeme  ; 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appeared  645 

'Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  feared  ; 

While,  sorrowful,  but  undismay'd, 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said:  — 

'  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar, 

It  may  but  thunder,  and  pass  o'er  ;  650 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

To  draw  the  lightning  on  thy  bower  ; 

For  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  grey  head 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

1  The  work  of  spies.  2  Difficulty. 


Canto  II  93 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  king's  command,  655 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band, 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

Shall  turn  the  monarch's  wrath  aside. 

Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

Ellen  and  I  will  seek,  apart,  660 

The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell, 

There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell, 

Till  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor, 

The  stern  pursuit  be  passed  and  o'er.' 

XXX 

'  No,  by  mine  honour,'  Roderick  said,  665 

'  So  help  me  Heaven,  and  my  good  blade  ! 
No,  never  !     Blasted  be  yon  Pine, 
My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine, 
If  from  its  shade  in  danger  part 
The  lineage  of  the  Bleeding  Heart !  670 

Hear  my  blunt  speech  :  grant  me  this  maid 
To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid ; 
To  Douglas,  leagued  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
Will  friends  and  allies  flock  enow l ; 
Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  grief,  675 

Will  bind  to  us  each  western  chief. 
When  the  loud  pipes  my  bridal  tell, 
The  Links  of  Forth  shall  hear  the  knell, 
The  guards  shall  start  in  Stirling's  porch  ; 
And,  when  I  light  the  nuptial  torch,  680 

1  Enough. 


94  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

A  thousand  villages  in  flames 

Shall  scare  the  slumbers  of  King  James  ! 

—  Nay,  Ellen,  blench  1  not  thus  away, 

And,  mother,  cease  these  signs,  I  pray  ; 

I  meant  not  all  my  heat  might  say.  685 

Small  need  of  inroad,  or  of  fight, 

When  the  sage  Douglas  may  unite 

Each  mountain  clan  in  friendly  band, 

To  guard  the  passes  of  their  land, 

Till  the  foiled  king  from  pathless  glen  690 

Shall  bootless 2  turn  him  home  again.' 

XXXI 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour, 

In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower, 

And,  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 

The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar,  695 

Dreamed  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream, 

Till  wakened  by  the  morning  beam  ; 

When,  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow, 

Such  startler3  cast  his  glance  below, 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around.  700 

And  heard  unintermitted  sound, 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  frail, 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale  ;  — 

Amid  his  senses'  giddy  wheel, 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel,  705 

1  Shrink.         2  Without  success.         8  /.<?.  one  who  is  startled. 


Canto  II  95 

! 

Headlong  to  plunge  himself  below, 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foreshow  ?  — 

Thus,  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound,1 

As  sudden  ruin  yawned  around, 

By  crossing  terrors  wildly  tossed,  710 

Still  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most, 

Could  scarce  the  desperate  thought  withstand, 

To  buy  his  safety  with  her  hand. 

XXXII 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 
In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye,  715 

And  eager  rose  to  speak  —  but  ere 
His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear, 
Had  Douglas  marked  the  hectic  strife, 
Where  death  seemed  combating  with  life ; 
For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood,  720 

One  instant  rushed  the  throbbing  blood, 
Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway, 
Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clay. 
'  Roderick,  enough !  enough  ! '  he  cried, 
'  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride  ;  725 

Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear, 
Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear. 
It  may  not  be  —  forgive  her,  Chief, 
Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 
Against  his  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er  730 

Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 
1  Astounded. 


96  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'Twas  I  that  taught  his  youthful  hand 

To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand  ; 

I  see  him  yet,  the  princely  boy  ! 

Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy  ;  735 

I  love  him  still,  despite  my  wrongs 

By  hasty  wrath  and  slanderous  tongues. 

O  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find, 

Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined  ! ' 

XXXIII 

Twice  through  the  hall  the  chieftain  strode  ;    740 
The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
And  darkened  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 
Seemed,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 
Like  the  ill  demon  of  the  night,  745 

Stooping  his  pinions'  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  nighted l  pilgrim's  way : 
But,  unrequited  Love  !  thy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  envenomed  smart, 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung,          750 
At  length  the  hand  of  Douglas  wrung, 
While  eyes  that  mocked  at  tears  before 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 
The  death-pangs  of  long-cherished  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope,  755 

But,  struggling  with  his  spirit  proud, 
Convulsive  heaved  its  chequered  shroud,2 
1  Benighted,  lost.  2  Garment. 


Canto  II  97 

While  every  sob  —  so  mute  were  all  — 

Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  hall. 

The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look,  760 

111  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook ; 

She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 

To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Graeme. 

xxxiv 

Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke  — 

As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke,  765 

Kindling  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low, 

To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow, 

So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair 

Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 

With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid  770 

On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid  : 

'  Back,  beardless  boy ! '  he  sternly  said, 

'  Back,  minion  !  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 

The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught? 

This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid,  775 

Thank  thou  for  punishment  delayed.' 

Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game, 

Fiercely  with  Roderick  grappled  Graeme. 

'  Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 

Its  chieftain  safety  save  his  sword  !  '  780 

Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand 

Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand, 

And  death  had  been  —  but  Douglas  rose, 

LADY   OF  THE   LAKE  —  7 


The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

And  thrust  between  the  struggling  foes 

His  giant  strength  :  — '  Chieftains,  forego  !       785 

I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe.  — 

Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar! 

What !  is  the  Douglas  fallen  so  far, 

His  daughter's  hand  is  deemed  the  spoil 

Of  such  dishonourable  broil  ? '  790 

Sullen  and  slowly  they  unclasp, 

As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 

And  each  upon  his  rival  glared, 

With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  bared. 

xxxv 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung,  795 

Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung, 

And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream, 

As  faltered  through  terrific  dream. 

Then  Roderick  plunged  in  sheath  his  sword, 

And  veiled  his  wrath  in  scornful  word  :  800 

'  Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 

Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air  1 

Then  mayest  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 

Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell,1 

Nor  lackey,2  with  his  freeborn  clan,  & 

The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 

More  would  he  of  Clan-Alpine  know, 

Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show.  — 

1  Moor.  2  Serve  as  a  menial. 


C^nto  II  99 

i 

Malise,  what  ho  ! '  —  his  henchman  came  ; 

'  Give  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Graeme.'  8/0. 

Young  Malcolm  answered,  calm  and  bold : 

'  Fear  nothing  for  thy  favourite  hold  ; 

The  spot  an  angel  deigned  to  grace 

Is  blessed,  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 

Thy  churlish  courtesy  for  those  8j^ 

Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 

As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 

At  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day, 

Though,  with  his  boldest  at  his  back, 

Even  Roderick  Dhu  beset  the  track.  —  820 

Brave  Douglas,  —  lovely  Ellen,  —  nay, 

Naught  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 

Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen 

So  secret  but  we  meet  again.  — 

Chieftain  !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour.' —          825 

He  said,  and  left  the  sylvan  bower. 

xxxvi 

Old  Allan  followed  to  the  strand, 

(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command,) 

And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  morn, 

The  stern  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn,          830 

The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 

Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down,  and  moor. 

Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Graeme, 

From  those  who  to  the  signal  came ; 


ioo  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land,  —  835 

Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 

He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind, 

While  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  bind, 

Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  rolled, 

His  ample  plaid  in  tightened  fold,  840 

And  stripped  his  limbs  to  such  array 

As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way,  — 

XXXVII 

Then  spoke  abrupt :  '  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity  !  ' 

The  minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  pressed,  —        845 
'  O  !  could  I  point l  a  place  of  rest ! 
My  sovereign  holds  in  ward 2  my  land, 
My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  band  ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 
Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade.  850 

Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Graeme, 
Who  loves  the  chieftain  of  his  name, 
Not  long  shall  honoured  Douglas  dwell, 
Like  hunted  stag,  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor,  ere  yon  pride-swollen  robber  dare,  —       855 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  air ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dhu  I  owed  him  naught, 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat, 
To  waft  me  to  yon  mountain-side.' 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide.  Sfo 

1  Show,  assign.  2  Control. 


Canto   II  IOI 

Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore, 

And  stoutly  steered  him  from  the  shore  ; 

And  Allan  strained  his  anxious  eye, 

Far  'mid  the  lake  his  form  to  spy, 

Darkening  across  each  puny  wave,  865 

To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave. 

Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 

The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb 

Then,  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 

Loud  shouted,  of  his  weal  to  tell.  870 

The  minstrel  heard  the  far  halloo, 

And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 


CANTO   THIRD 
THE  GATHERING 

i 

TIME  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.     The  race  of  yore, 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 
And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store l 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happed  by  land  or  sea, 
How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be  1  5 

How  few,  all  weak  and  withered  of  their  force, 
Wait  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity, 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse, 
To  sweep  them  from  our  sight  1     Time  rolls  his  cease- 
less course. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well,  10 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew, 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,2  cliff,  and  dell, 

And  solitary  heath,  the  signal  knew ; 
And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew, 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound,        15 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew, 

While    clamorous   war-pipes    yelled    the    gathering 

sound, 
And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor,  round. 

1  In  abundance.  2  Glen. 


Canto   III  103 

i 

ii 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 

To  purple  changed  Loch  Katrine  blue ;  20 

Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 

Just  kissed  the  lake,  just  stirred  the  trees ; 

And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 

Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy ; 

The  mountain-shadows  on  her  breast  25  • 

Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 

In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie, 

Like  future  joys  to  Fancy's  eye. 

The  water-lily  to  the  light 

Her  chalice  reared  of  silver  bright ;  30 

The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemmed  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawn  ; 

The  grey  mist  left  the  mountain-side, 

The  torrent  showed  its  glistening  pride  ; 

Invisible  in  flecked  sky,  35 

The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry ; 

The  blackbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  bush  ; 

In  answer  cooed  the  cushat  dove 

Her  notes  of  peace  and  rest  and  love.  40 

in 

No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest, 
Assuaged  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast. 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand, 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand, 


IO4  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  eyed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid  45 

His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade. 

Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals'  care 

Was  prompt  the  ritual  to  prepare, 

With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught ; 

For  such  Antiquity  had  taught  50 

Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 

The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 

The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 

At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast ;  — 

Such  glance  the  mountain-eagle  threw,  55 

As,  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 

She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 

And,  high  in  middle  heaven  reclined, 

With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake, 

Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake.  60 

IV 

A  heap  of  withered  boughs  was  piled, 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  l  wild, 
Mingled  with  shivers 2  from  the  oak, 
Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 
Brian  the  Hermit  by  it  stood,  65 

Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood. 
His  grizzled  beard  and  matted  hair 
Obscured  a  visage  of  despair ; 
His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seamed  o'er, 
The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore.  70 

1  Mountain-ash.  2  Splinters- 


Canto  III  105 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face, 

The  impending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude, 

Far  in  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest,  75 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released, 

Whose  hardened  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore, 

Mixed  in  the  charms  he  muttered  o'er.  So 

The  hallowed  creed  gave  only  worse 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse  ; 

No  peasant  sought  that  hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunned  with  care, 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound,  85 

And  in  mid  chase  called  off  his  hound  ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath,1 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path, 

He  prayed,  and  signed  the  cross  between, 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien.  90 


Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. 
His  mother  watched  a  midnight  fold, 
Built  deep  within  a  dreary  glen, 
Where  scattered  lay  the  bones  of  men, 
In  some  forgotten  battle  slain,  95 

And  bleached  by  drifting  wind  and  rain. 
1  Valley. 


io6  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart 
To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art  I 
The  knot-grass  fettered  there  the  hand 
Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band  ;  100 

Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone 
That  bucklered  heart  to  fear  unknown, 
A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest, 
*       The  field-fare  framed  her  lowly  nest ; 

There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime         105 

On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mocked  at  time ; 

And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull, 

Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  flushed  and  full, 

For  heath-bell  with  her  purple  bloom, 

Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume.  no 

All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 

Sat  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade  : 

—  She  said  no  shepherd  sought  her  side, 

No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied, 

Yet  ne'er  again,  to  braid  her  hair,  115 

The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear ; 

Nor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night, 

Or  holy  church,  or  blessed  rite,  120 

But  locked  her  secret  in  her  breast, 

And  died  in  travail,  unconfessed. 

VI 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers,1 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years  ; 
1  Associates,  equals. 


Canto  III  107 

A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy,  125 

Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 

Bearing  each  taunt  which  careless  tongue 

On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 

Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 

To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail,  130 

Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received 

What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 

And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 

To  meet  and  know  his  phantom  sire ! 

In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate,  135 

The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate  ; 

In  vain  the  learning  of  the  age 

Unclasped  the  sable-lettered  l  page  ; 

Even  in  its  treasures  he  could  find 

Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind.  140 

Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 

Of  magic,  cabala,2  and  spells, 

And  every  dark  pursuit  allied 

To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride  ; 

Till,  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'er-strung,    145 

And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 

Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 

And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

VII 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild, 
Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.  150 

1  Black-lettered.  2  Mystical  teaching. 


lo8  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

Where  with  black  cliffs  the  torrents  toil, 
He  watched  the  wheeling  eddies  boil, 
Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 
Beheld  the  River  Demon  rise  ; 
The  mountain  mist  took  form  and  limb 
Of  noontide  hag  or  goblin  grim  ; 
The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread, 
Swelled  with  the  voices  of  the  dead  ; 
Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 
His  eye  beheld  the  ranks  of  death : 
Thus  the  lone  seer,  from  mankind  hurled, 
Shaped  forth  a  disembodied  world. 
One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 
Still  bound  him  to  the  mortal  kind  ; 
The  only  parent  he  could  claim 
Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 
Late  had  he  heard,  in  prophet's  dream, 
The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream  ; 
Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 
Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 
Along  Benharrow's  shingly1  side, 
Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride ; 
The  thunderbolt  had  split  the  pine,  — 
All  augured  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 
He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 
The  signals  of  impending  woe, 
And  now  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban,2 
As  bade  the  chieftain  of  his  clan. 
1  Gravelly.  2  Curse. 


Canto   III  109 

VIII 

'Twas  all  prepared ;  —  and  from  the  rock 

A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock,  180 

Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid, 

And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 

Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 

The  life-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide, 

Down  his  clogged  beard  and  shaggy  limb,        185 

Till  darkness  glazed  his  eyeballs  dim. 

The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 

A  slender  crosslet l  framed  with  care, 

A  cubit's  length  in  measure  due ; 

The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew,  190 

Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave 

Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave, 

And,  answering  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 

Soothe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 

The  Cross  thus  formed  he  held  on  high,          195 

With  wasted  hand  and  haggard  eye, 

And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke, 

While  his  anathema 2  he  spoke. 


IX 

'  Woe  to  the  clansman,  who  shall  view 
This  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew, 
Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 

1  Small  cross.  2  Curse. 


no  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Where  weep  the  heavens  their  holiest  dew 

On  Alpine's  dwelling  low  ! 
Deserter  of  his  chieftain's  trust, 
He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 
But,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust, 
Each  clansman's  execration  just 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe.' 
He  paused  ;  — the  word  the  vassals  took, 
With  forward  step  and  fiery  look, 
On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 
Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook1; 

And  first  in  murmur  low, 
Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course, 
That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 
And  flings  to  shore  his  mustered  force, 
Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

'  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe  ! ' 
Ben-an's  grey  scalp  the  accents  knew, 
The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 
The  exulting  eagle  screamed  afar,  — 
They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 


The  shout  was  hushed  on  lake  and  fell, 
The  monk  resumed  his  muttered  spell : 
Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came, 
The  while  he  scathed 2  the  Cross  with  flame ; 

1  Struck.  2  Scarred. 


Canto   III  in 

And  the  few  words  that  reached  the  air, 

Although  the  holiest  name  was  there, 

Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 

But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd  230 

Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud  :  — 

'  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 

At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear ! 

For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 

His  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear,  235 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know ; 
Far  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flame 
Clan-Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim, 
While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 
Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  shame,         240 

And  infamy  and  woe.' 
Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 
As  goshawk's  whistle  on  the  hill, 
Denouncing  misery  and  ill, 
Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill  245 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow  ; 
Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 
'  Sunk  be  his  home  in  embers  red ! 
And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 
That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head  250 

We  doom  to  want  and  woe  !  ' 
A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 
Coir-Uriskin,  thy  goblin  cave  ! 
And  the  grey  pass  where  birches  wave 

On  Beala-nam-bo.  255 


1 1 2  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

XI 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew, 

And  hard  his  labouring  breath  he  drew, 

While,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 

And  eyes  that  glowed  like  fiery  brand, 

He  meditated  curse  more  dread,  260 

And  deadlier,  on  the  clansman's  head, 

Who,  summoned  to  his  chieftain's  aid, 

The  signal  saw  and  disobeyed. 

The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood, 

He  quenched  among  the  bubbling  blood,         265 

And,  as  again  the  sign  he  reared, 

Hollow  and  hoarse  his  voice  was  heard : 

'  When  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 

Vich-Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 

Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed  !  270 

Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed 

May  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes, 

Wolves  make  the  coward  heart  their  prize  1 

As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth, 

So  may  his  heart's-blood  drench  his  hearth!    275 

As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark, 

Quench  thou  this  light,  Destruction  dark  1 

And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied, 

Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside  1 ' 

He  ceased  ;  no  echo  gave  again  280 

The  murmur  of  the  deep  Amen. 


Canto   III  1 1 3 

i 

XII 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look, 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took : 

'  Speed,  Malise,  speed  ! '  he  said,  and  gave 

The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave.  285 

'  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead  — 

Instant  the  time  —  speed,  Malise,  speed! ' 

Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew ; 

High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow ;  290 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launched  the  boat, 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still, 

When  it  had  neared  the  mainland  hill ;  295 

And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 

When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

XIII 

Speed,  Malise,  speed  !  the  dun  deer's  hide      300 

On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  such  cause  of  haste 

Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 

Bend  'gainst  the  steepy1  hill  thy  breast, 

Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest ;  305 

1  Steep. 
LADY   OF  THE  LAKE  —  8 


114  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 

The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass  ; 

Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound, 

And  thread  the  brake  like  questing1  hound  : 

The  crag  is  high,  and  scaur2  is  deep,  310 

Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap : 

Parched  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 

Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now  ; 

Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear, 

Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career !  315 

The  wounded  hind  thou  track'st  not  now, 

Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 

Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace 

With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race ; 

But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed  320 

Are  in  thy  course  —  speed,  Malise,  speed  1 

XIV 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies, 
In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise  ; 
From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 
They  poured  each  hardy  tenant  down.  325 

Nor  slacked  the  messenger  his  pace  ; 
He  showed  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 
And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 
Left  clamour  and  surprise  behind. 
The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand,  330 

The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand ; 
1  Seeking  the  game.  2  Cliff,  precipice. 


Canto  III  115 

With  changed  cheer,1  the  mower  blithe 

Left  in  the  half-cut  swath  his  scythe ; 

The  herds  without  a  keeper  strayed, 

The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid,  335 

The  falconer  tossed  his  hawk  away, 

The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay ; 

Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms, 

Each  son  of  Alpine  rushed  to  arms ; 

So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray  340 

Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 

Alas,  thou  lovely  lake  !  that  e'er 

Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fear  1 

The  rocks,  the  bosky 2  thickets,  sleep 

So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep,  345 

The  lark's  blithe  carol,  from  the  cloud, 

Seems  for  the  scene  too  gaily  loud. 

xv 

Speed,  Malise,  speed  !  —  The  lake  is  past, 
Duncraggan's  huts  appear  at  last, 
And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen,    350 
Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green  ; 
There  mayest  thou  rest,  thy  labour  done, 
Their  lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on.  — 
As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey, 
The  henchman  shot  him  down  the  way.  355 

—  What  woeful  accents  load  the  gale  ? 
The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail ! 
1  Look.  *  Bushy. 


n6  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 

A  valiant  warrior  rights  no  more. 

Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase,  360 

At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place  — 

Within  the  hall,  where  torch's  ray 

Supplies  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 

Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier, 

And  o'er  him  streams  his  widow's  tear.  -;65 

His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  by, 

His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why ; 

The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 

The  dismal  coronach l  resound.2 

XVI 

CORONACH 

'  He  is  gone  on  the  mountain,  370 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font,3  reappearing, 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow,          375 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  ! 

'  The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper  380 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 

1  Funeral  lamentation.       2  Make  to  resound.       3  Fountain,  spring. 


Canto   III  117 

i 

'  The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing, 

When  blighting  was  nearest.  385 

'  Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,1 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber,2 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, — 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber  ! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain,  390 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever ! ' 

XVII 

See  Stumah,  who,  the  bier  beside, 

His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed,  395 

Poor  Stumah  !  whom  his  least  halloo 

Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 

Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears, 

As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 

'Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread,  400 

Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead, 

But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear, 

Urge  the  precipitate  career. 

All  stand  aghast :  —  unheeding  all, 

The  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall ;  405 

1  Hollowed  hillside.  2  Trouble. 


1 1 8  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood  ; 
Held  forth  the  Cross  besmeared  with  blood 
'  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead  — 
Speed  forth  the  signal !  clansmen,  speed  1 ' 


XVIII 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line,  410 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 

His  father's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied ; 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Watch  him  in  speechless  agony,  415 

Back  to  her  opened  arms  he  flew, 

Pressed  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu  — 

'  Alas ! '  she  sobbed,  — '  and  yet  be  gone, 

And  speed  thee  forth,  like  Duncan's  son  ! ' 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier,  420 

Dashed  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear, 

Breathed  deep  to  clear  his  labouring  breast, 

And  tossed  aloft  his  bonnet  crest ; 

Then,  like  the  high-bred  colt,  when,  freed, 

First  he  essays  his  fire  and  speed,  425 

He  vanished,  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 

Sped  forward  with  the  Fiery  Cross. 

Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear, 

While  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear ; 

And  when  she  marked  the  henchman's  eye      430 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 


Canto   III  119 

'  Kinsman,'  she  said,  '  his  race  is  run 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on  ; 

The  oak  has  fallen,  —  the  sapling  bough 

Is  all  Duncraggan's  shelter  now.  435 

Yet  trust  I  well,  his  duty  done, 

The  orphan's  God  will  guard  my  son. — 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true, 

At  Duncan's  hest l  your  blades  that  drew, 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head !          440 

Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead.' 

Then  weapon-clang  and  martial  call 

Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall, 

While  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 

Snatched  sword  and  targe 2  with  hurried  hand  ; 

And  short  and  flitting  energy  446 

Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye, 

As  if  the  sounds  to  warrior  dear 

Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 

But  faded  soon  that  borrowed  force ;  450 

Grief  claimed  his  right,  and  tears  their  course. 

XIX 

Benledi  saw,  the  Cross  of  Fire, 
It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire. 
O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  flew, 
Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew ;  455 

The  tear  that  gathered  in  his  eye 
He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry ; 
1  Command.  2  Shield. 


I2O  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Until,  where  Teith's  young  waters  roll 

Betwixt  him  and  a  wooded  knoll 

That  graced  the  sable  strath l  with  green,         460 

The  chapel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 

Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 

But  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge ; 

Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 

Though  reeled  his  sympathetic  eye,  465 

He  dashed  amid  the  torrent's  roar : 

His  right  hand  high  the  crosslet  bore, 

His  left  the  pole-ax  grasped,  to  guide 

And  stay  his  footing  in  the  tide. 

He  stumbled  twice  —  the  foam  splashed  high, 

With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by ;          471 

And  had  he  fallen,  —  for  ever  there, 

Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir ! 

But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 

Firmer  he  grasped  the  Cross  of  strife,  475 

Until  the  opposing  bank  he  gained, 

And  up  the  chapel  pathway  strained. 

xx 

A  blithesome  rout,2  that  morning  tide,3 
Had  sought  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombea's  Mary  gave  480 

To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
And,  issuing  from  the  Gothic  arch, 
The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
1  Dark  valley.  2  Company.  8  Time. 


Canto   III  121 

) 

In  rude  but  glad  procession  came 

Bonneted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame  ;  485 

And  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer, 

Which  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear ; 

And  children,  that,  unwitting1  why, 

Lent  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry  ; 

And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied  490 

Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride, 

Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 

The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 

With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand, 

She  held  the  kerchief's  snowy  band  ;  495 

The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side 

Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride, 

And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 

Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

XXI 

Who  meets  them  at  the  churchyard  gate  ?         500 
The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate ! 
Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies, 
And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 
All  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 
Panting  and  travel-soiled  he  stood,  505 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 
Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word : 
'  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead  — 
Speed  forth  the  signal !  Norman,  speed  ! ' 
1  Not  knowing. 


122      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand, 

Just  linked  to  his  by  holy  band, 

For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 

And  must  the  day  so  blithe  that  rose, 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close, 

Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 

The  bridegroom  from  the  plighted  bride  ? 

O  fatal  doom  !  —  it  must !  it  must ! 

Clan-Alpine's  cause,  her  chieftain's  trust, 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay  ; 

Stretch  to  the  race  —  away !  away  1 

XXII 

Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside, 
And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride, 
Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 
Speak  woe  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer ; 
Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look, 
In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook, 
Nor  backward  glanced,  till  on  the  heath 
Where  Lubnaig's  lake  supplies  the  Teith. 
—  What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirred  ? 
The  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferred, 
And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train 
Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 
Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 
The  manly  thirst  for  martial  fame, 
The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers, 
Ere  yet  they  rush  upon  the  spears, 


Canto   III  123 

And  zeal  for  clan  and  chieftain  burning, 

And  hope,  from  well-fought  field  returning, 

With  war's  red  honours  on  his  crest, 

To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast.  540 

Stung  by  such  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and  brae,1 

Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 

While  high  resolve  and  feeling  strong 

Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

XXIII 

SONG 

'  The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed,  545 

The  bracken 2  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary ; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid,  550 

My  vesper  song  thy  wail,  sweet  maid ! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary  ! 

'  I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 
The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow  ; 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow,  555 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary ! 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know ; 
When  bursts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary.  560 

1  Hillside.  2  Fern. 


124  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  of  thee,  Mary. 
And  if  returned  from  conquered  foes,  565 

How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary  1 ' 

XXIV 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze,  570 

Rushing,  in  conflagration  strong, 
Thy  deep  ravines  and  dells  along, 
Wrapping  thy  cliffs  in  purple  glow, 
And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below  ; 
Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far,  575 

As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war. 
The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil1 
The  sullen  margin  of  Loch  Voil, 
Waked  still  Loch  Doine,  and  to  the  source 
Alarmed,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course  ;  580 

Thence  southward  turned  its  rapid  road 
Adown  Strath-Gartney's  valley  broad, 
Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 
A  portion  in  Clan-Alpine's  name, 
From  the  grey  sire,  whose  trembling  hand        585 
Could  hardly  buckle  on  his  brand, 
1  Tumult. 


Canto   III  125 

t 

To  tlie  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 

Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 

Each  valley,  each  sequestered  glen, 

Mustered  its  little  horde  of  men,  590 

That  met  as  torrents  from  the  height 

In  Highland  dales  their  streams  unite, 

Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong, 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood  595 

By  hundreds,  prompt  for  blows  and  blood  ; 

Each  trained  to  arms  since  life  began, 

Owning  no  tie  but  to  his  clan, 

No  oath  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand, 

No  law  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.  600 

xxv 

That  summer  morn  had  Roderick  Dhu 
Surveyed  the  skirts  of  Benvenue, 
And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath, 
To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 
All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce  ;  605 

Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce  ; 
In  Rednoch  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 
No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 
On  Duchray's  towers  no  beacon  shone, 
Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con ;  610 

All  seemed  at  peace.  —  Now  wot1  ye  why 
The  chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 
1  Know. 


126  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 

This  western  frontier  scanned  with  care  ?  — 

In  Benvenue's  most  darksome  cleft, 

A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 

For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 

That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 

And  in  a  deep  sequestered  dell 

Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 

By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 

Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung ; 

A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave, 

And  called  the  grot  the  Goblin  Cave. 

XXVI 

It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawned  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast ; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock, 
Hurled  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue's  grey  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frowned  incumbent  o'er  the  spot, 
And  formed  the  rugged  sylvan  grot. 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made, 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone, 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 


Canto  III  127 

Gains  on  thy  depth,  Futurity.  640 

No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still,1 

Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 

But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 

A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break, 

With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke  645 

The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 

Suspended  cliffs,  with  hideous  sway, 

Seemed  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  grey. 

From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 

In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young ;  650 

Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 

Sought  for  a  space  their  safety  there. 

Grey  Superstition's  whisper  dread 

Debarred  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 

For  there,  she  said,  did  fays 2  resort,  655 

And  satyrs 3  hold  their  sylvan  court, 

By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 

And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 

XXVII 

Now  eve,  with  western  shadows  long, 

Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong,  660 

When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 

Repassed  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 

Above  the  Goblin  Cave  they  go, 

Through  the  wild  pass  of  Beal-nam-bo; 

1  Stillness.  2  Fairies.          8  Fabled  creatures  of  the  woods. 


128  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before,  665 

To  launch  the  shallop  from  the  shore, 

For  'cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 

To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 

And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 

Yet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind,  670 

Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword, 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord  ; 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake.  675 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighbouring  height, 

By  the  low-levelled  sunbeams  light ! 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man,  680 

As  even  afar  might  well  be  seen, 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

Their  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand,  685 

That  well  became  such  mountain-strand. 

XXVIII 

Their  chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 

Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 

Hard  by  where  turned  apart  the  road 

To  Douglas's  obscure  abode.  690 

It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn 


Canto   III  129 

That  Roderick  Dhu  had  proudly  sworn 

To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar, 

Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more  ; 

But  he  who  stems  a  stream  with  sand,  695 

And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 

Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove  — 

By  firm  resolves  to  conquer  love  ! 

Eve  finds  the  chief,  like  restless  ghost, 

Still  hovering  near  his  treasure  lost ;  700 

For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 

A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye, 

Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear 

The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear, 

And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze  705 

That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 

But  hark  !  what  mingles  in  the  strain  ? 

It  is  the  harp  of  Allan-Bane, 

That  wakes  its  measure  slow  and  high, 

Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy.  710 

What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings  ? 

'Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel,  sings. 

XXIX 
HYMN    TO    THE    VIRGIN 

'  Ave  Maria  /l  maiden  mild  ! 

Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer ! 
Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild,  715 

Thou  canst  save  amid  despair. 
1  Hail  Mary. 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE  —  9 


130  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

'  Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care, 

Though  banished,  outcast,  and  reviled  — 
Maiden  !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer  1 

Mother,  hear  a  suppliant  child !  720 

Ave  Maria  I 

'  Ave  Maria  !  undefiled  I 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share 
Shall  seem  with  down  of  eider  piled, 

If  thy  protection  hover  there. 
The  murky  cavern's  heavy  air  725 

Shall  breathe  of  balm  if  thou  hast  smiled  ; 
Then,  Maiden  !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer  1 
Mother,  list  a  suppliant  child  I 

Ave  Maria  ! 

*  Ave  Maria  !  stainless  styled  I 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air,  730 

From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 
Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  fair. 
We  bow  us  to  our  lot  of  care, 

Beneath  thy  guidance  reconciled ; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer  I  735 

And  for  a  father  hear  a  child  1 

Ave  Maria  ! ' 

XXX 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn.  — 
Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 


Canto  III 


As  listening  still,  Clan-Alpine's  lord 

Stood  leaning  on  his  heavy  sword,  740 

Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign, 

Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 

Then,  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 

'  It  is  the  last  time  —  'tis  the  last,' 

He  muttered  thrice,  —  '  the  last  time  e'er         745 

That  angel  voice  shall  Roderick  hear  !  ' 

It  was  a  goading  thought  —  his  stride 

Hied  hastier  l  down  the  mountain-side  ; 

Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat, 

And  instant2  'cross  the  lake  it  shot.  750 

They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay, 

And  eastward  held  their  hasty  way, 

Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light, 

The  band  arrived  on  Lanrick  height, 

Where  mustered,  in  the  vale  below,  755 

Clan-Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

XXXI 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made  ; 
Some  sat,  some  stood,  some  slowly  strayed  ; 
But  most,  with  mantles  folded  round, 
Were  couched  to  rest  upon  the  ground,  760 

Scarce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye 
From  the  deep  heather  where  they  lie, 
So  well  was  matched  the  tartan  screen 
With  heath-bell  dark  and  brackens  green  ; 
1  Hastened  more  rapidly.  2  Instantly. 


132  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Unless  where,  here  and  there,  a  blade  765 

Or  lance's  point  a  glimmer  made, 

Like  glow-worm  twinkling  through  the  shade. 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom, 

They  saw  the  chieftain's  eagle  plume, 

Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide,          770 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Three  times  returned  the  martial  yell ; 

It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain, 

And  Silence  claimed  her  evening  reign.  775 


CANTO   FOURTH 
THE  PROPHECY 

i 
'  The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  budding  new, 

And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears  ; 
The  rose  is  sweetest  washed  with  morning  dew, 

And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalmed  in  tears. 
O  wilding1  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears,  5 

I  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 
Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years  !  '  — 

Thus  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad  wave. 

ii 

Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung,  10 

Love  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 
All  while  he  stripped  the  wild-rose  spray, 
His  ax  and  bow  beside  him  lay, 
For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood, 
A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood.  15 

Hark !  on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung, 
And  instant  to  his  arms  he  sprung. 
'  Stand,  or  thou  diest !  — What,  Malise  ?  —  soon 
Art  thou  returned  from  Braes  of  Doune. 
1  Wild. 
133 


134  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

By  thy  keen  step  and  glance  I  know  20 

Thou  bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe.'  — 

(For  while  the  Fiery  Cross  hied  on, 

On  distant  scout1  had  Malise  gone.) 

'Where  sleeps  the  chief?'  the  henchman  said.— 

'  Apart,  in  yonder  misty  glade  ;  25 

To  his  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide.'  — 

Then  called  a  slumberer  by  his  side, 

And  stirred  him  with  his  slackened  bow  — 

'  Up,  up,  Glentarkin  !  rouse  thee,  ho ! 

We  seek  the  chieftain  ;  on  the  track  30 

Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back.' 

in 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped : 

'  What  of  the  foemen  ? '  Norman  said.  — 

'  Varying  reports  from  near  and  far  ; 

This  certain,  —  that  a  band  of  war  35 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boune,2 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune  ; 

King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 

Holds  revelry  in  Stirling  towers. 

Soon  will  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud  40 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  thunder  loud. 

Inured  s  to  bide 4  such  bitter  bout,5 

The  warrior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out ; 

1  Scouting  expedition.          2  Prepared.          8  Trained.         4  Endure. 
6  Trial  of  strength. 


Canto  IV  135 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  thou  provide 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride  ? '  —  45 

'  What !  know  ye  not  that  Roderick's  care 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

Each  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Unfit  for  arms  ;  and  given  his  charge,  50 

Nor  skiff  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge, 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  large, 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor, 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ? '  — 

IV 

'  'Tis  well  advised1  —  the  chieftain's  plan          55 

Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 

But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dhu 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true  ? '  — 

'  It  is  because  last  evening-tide 

Brian  an  augury  hath  tried,  60 

Of  that  dread  kind  which  must  not  be 

Unless  in  dread  extremity,  — 

The  Taghairm  called  ;  by  which,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew.' —      65 

MALISE 

'  Ah  !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew  ! 
The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 

1  Planned. 


136  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad. 

His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark; 

His  red  eye  glowed  like  fiery  spark ;  70 

So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet, 

Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 

And  kept  our  stoutest  kerns l  in  awe, 

Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 

But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road,  75 

And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikemen's  goad, 

And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  Row 

A  child  might  scathless2  stroke  his  brow.' 


NORMAN 

'  That  bull  was  slain :  his  reeking  hide 
They  stretched  the  cataract  beside,  80 

Whose  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 
Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 3 
Of  that  huge  cliff  whose  ample  verge 4 
Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe. 
Couched  on  a  shelf  beneath  its  brink,  85 

Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 
Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 
And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray, 
Midst  groan  of  rock  and  roar  of  stream, 
The  wizard  waits  prophetic  dream.  90 

Nor  distant  rests  the  chief ;  —  but  hush  ! 

1  Light-armed  soldiers.  2  Without  harm.  8  Knob. 

*  Broad  edge. 


Canto  IV  137 

i 

See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush, 

The  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 

To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 

Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost,  95 

That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughtered  host  ? 

Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak, 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke,1 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  ? ' 

MALISE 

'  Peace  !  peace  !  to  other  than  to  me,  100 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury  ; 

But  still  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

Clan-Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 

Not  aught  that,  gleaned  from  heaven  or  hell, 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell.  105 

The  chieftain  joins  him,  see  —  and  now 

Together  they  descend  the  brow.' 

VI 

And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  lord 
The  hermit  monk  held  solemn  word  :  — 
'  Roderick !  it  is  a  fearful  strife,  no 

For  man  endowed  with  mortal  life, 
Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 
Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill, 
Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance, 
Whose  hair  can  rouse2  like  warrior's  lance,  —  115 
1  Quartered.  2  Rise. 


ij 8  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view,  unfurled, 

The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 

Yet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 

My  sunken  pulse,  mine  eyeballs  dim, 

My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn,  120 

This  for  my  chieftain  have  I  borne  !  — 

The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch 

A  human  tongue  may  ne'er  avouch  ; 1 

No  mortal  man  —  save  he  who,  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead,  125 

Is  gifted  beyond  nature's  law  — 

Had  e'er  survived  to  say  he  saw. 

At  length  the  fateful  answer  came, 

In  characters  of  living  flame  ! 

Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll,  130 

But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul :  — 

WHICH  SPILLS  THE  FOREMOST  FOEMAN'S  LIFE, 

THAT  PARTY  CONQUERS  IN  THE  STRIFE.'  — 

VII 

'  Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care  1 

Good  is  thine  augury,2  and  fair.  135 

Clan-Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood 

But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 

A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 

Self-offered  to  the  auspicious  blow: 

A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn, —  140 

No  eve  shall  witness  his  return  ! 

1  Confess.  2  Prophecy. 


Canto  IV  139 

My  followers  guard  each  pass's  mouth, 

To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south, 

Red  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide, 

Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside,  145 

Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown, 

He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down. 

—  But  see  who  comes  his  news  to  show  1 

Malise  !  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ? '  — 

VIII 

'  At  Doune,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive1       150 

Two  barons  proud  their  banners  wave. 

I  saw  the  Moray's  silver  star, 

And  marked  the  sable  pale2  of  Mar.'  — 

'  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those  J 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes.  155 

When  move  they  on  ? '  — '  To-morrow's  noon 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  boune.'  — 

'  Then  shall  it  see  a  meeting  stern  !  — 

But,  for  the  place  —  say,  couldst  thou  learn 

Nought  of  the  friendly  clans  of  Earn  ?  160 

Strengthened  by  them,  we  well  might  bide 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side. 

Thou  couldst  not  ?  —  well !  Clan-Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosachs'  shaggy  glen  ; 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight,  165 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

1  Broadsword.  2  Black  stripe  in  a  coat-of-arms. 


140  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire, 

Father  for  child,  and  son  for  sire, 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  !  —  But  why  — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ?  170- 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omened  tear ! 

A  messenger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

No !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance,1 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  through  175 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu  1 

'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  targe. 

Each  to  his  post !  —  all  know  their  charge.' 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bands  advance, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance,    180 

Obedient  to  the  chieftain's  glance. 

—  I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar, 

And  seek  Coir-Uriskin  once  more. 

IX 

Where  is  the  Douglas  ?  —  he  is  gone ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  grey  stone  185 

Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan  ; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  poured  on  her  unheeding  ear.  — 
He  will  return  —  dear  lady,  trust !  — 
With  joy  return  ;  —  he  will  —  he  must.  190 

Well  was  it  time  to  seek  afar 
Some  refuge  from  impending  war, 
1  Station. 


Canto  IV  141 

When  e'en  Clan-Alpine's  rugged  swarm 

Are  cowed  by  the  approaching  storm. 

I  saw  their  boats,  with  many  a  light,  195 

Floating  the  livelong  yesternight, 

Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth 

By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north ; 

I  marked  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 

Thick  moored  by  the  lone  islet's  side,  200 

Like  wild  ducks  couching  in  the  fen, 

When  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 

Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 

The  peril  on  the  mainland  side, 

Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care  205 

Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  ? '  — 


ELLEN 

'  No,  Allan,  no  !     Pretext  so  kind 
My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 
When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave,  210 

The  tear  that  glistened  in  his  eye 
Drowned  not  his  purpose  fixed  and  high. 
My  soul,  though  feminine  and  weak, 
Can  image  his ;  e'en  as  the  lake, 
Itself  disturbed  by  slightest  stroke,  215 

Reflects  the  invulnerable  rock. 
He  hears  report  of  battle  rife, 
He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 


142  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

I  saw  him  redden  when  the  theme 

Turned,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream 

Of  Malcolm  Grasme  in  fetters  bound, 

Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 

Think'st  thou  he  trowed 1  thine  omen  aught  ? 

Oh  no !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 

For  the  kind  youth,  —  for  Roderick  too  — 

(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true ; 

In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause  ! 

Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 

Why  else  that  solemn  warning  given, — 

"  If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven  "  ? 

Why  else,  to  Cambus-Kenneth's  fane,2 

If  eve  return  him  not  again, 

Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  known  ? 

Alas  !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne, 

Buys  his  friends'  safety  with  his  own ; 

He  goes  to  do  —  what  I  had  done, 

Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  sonl '  — 

XI 

'  Nay,  lovely  Ellen  !  —  dearest,  nay  1 
If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 
He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 
As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 
Be  sure  he's  safe  ;  and  for  the  Graeme,  — 
Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name  1  — 
My  visioned  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 
1  Believed.  a  Shrine,  church. 


Canto  IV  143 

Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you.  245 

When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile  ? 

Think  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle, 

And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow 

That  presaged  this  approaching  woe  1 

Sooth l  was  my  prophecy  of  fear ,  250 

Believe  it  when  it  augurs 2  cheer. 

Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot! 

Ill  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  grot. 

Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  I  know  — 

Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  woe  ;  255 

My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer.'  — 

ELLEN 

'  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt ;  I  hear, 

But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear.' 

The  minstrel  tried  his  simple  art, 

But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart.  260 

XII 
BALLAD 

Alice  Brand 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis3  and  merle4  are  singing, 

When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are  in  cry, 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

1  True.  2  Predicts.  8  Thrush.  *  Blackbird. 


144  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  "  O  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land  265 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you ; 
And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold,1 
As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

' ':  O  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright, 

And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue,  270 

That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 
Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

'  "  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 

For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed,  275 

And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

'  "  And  for  vest  of  pall,2  thy  fingers  small, 

That  wont 3  on  harp  to  stray, 
A  cloak  must  shear  from  the  slaughtered  deer, 

To  keep  the  cold  away." —  280 

'  "  O  Richard  !  if  my  brother  died, 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance  ; 
For  darkling4  was  the  battle  tried, 
And  fortune  sped  the  lance. 

'  "  If  pall  and  vair5  no  more  I  wear,  285 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen,6 
As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  grey, 

As  gay  the  forest-green. 

1  Open  country.  2  Fine  cloth.  8  Are  accustomed. 

4  In  the  dark.  6  Squirrel-fur.  6  Shining. 


Canto   IV  145 

'  "  And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 

And  lost  thy  native  land,  290 

Still  Alice  has  her  own  Richard, 
And  he  his  Alice  Brand." 

XIII 
BALLAD    CONTINUED 

'  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing  ; 

On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side,  295 

Lord  Richard's  ax  is  ringing. 

'  Up  spoke  the  moody  elfin  king, 

Who  woned  l  within  the  hill,  — 
Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruined  church, 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill.  300 

'  "  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  elfin  queen  ? 
Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear  305 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ! 

'  "  Up,  Urgan,  up  !  to  yon  mortal  hie, 

For  thou  wert  christened  man  ; 
For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

For  muttered  word  or  ban.2  310 

1  Dwelt.  2  Curse. 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE — IO 


146  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  "  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  withered  heart, 

The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye  ; 
Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 
Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 


XIV 
BALLAD    CONTINUED 

'  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

Though  the  birds  have  stilled  their  singing ; 
The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 
And  Richard  is  fagots  bringing. 

'  Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 
And,  as  he  crossed  and  blessed  himself, 
"  I  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grisly1  elf, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands." 

'  But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

That  woman  void  of  fear,  — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 
'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer."  — 

'  "  Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood  I 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand, 
The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly 2  blood, 
The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

1  Horrid.  2  Natural,  kindred. 


Canto  IV  147 

'  Then  forward  stepped  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine.  335 

"  And  I  conjure  thee,  demon  elf, 

By  Him  whom  demons  fear, 
To  show  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 

And  what  thine  errand  here  ?  " 


XV 
BALLAD    CONTINUED 

'  "  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  Fairy-land,  340 

When  fairy  birds  are  singing, 
When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's  side, 
With  bit  and  bridle  ringing  : 

'  "  And  gaily  shines  the  Fairy-land  — 

But  all  is  glistening  show,  345 

Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 
Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

'  "  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

Is  our  inconstant  shape, 

Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem,  350 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

'  "  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 
When  the  fairy  king  has  power, 


148  The  Lady  of  the   Lake 

That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 
And  'twixt  life  and  death  was  snatched  away  355 

To  the  joyless  elfin  bower. 

•  "  But  wist  I l  of  a  woman  bold, 

Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign,2 
I  might  regain  my  mortal  mould,3 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine."  360 

'  She  crossed  him  once  —  she  crossed  him  twice  — 

That  lady  was  so  brave  ; 
The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 
The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

'  She  crossed  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold  ;  365 

He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mould,4 
Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  ! 

'  Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing,  ,     370 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  grey, 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringing.' 

XVI 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 

A  stranger  climbed  the  steepy  glade  ; 

His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien,  375 

His  hunting-suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

1  If  I  knew.          2  Mark  with  the  sign  of  the  cross.         8  Shape. 
4  Ground. 


Canto  IV  149 

His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims  — 

'Tis  Snowdoun's  knight,  'tis  James  Fitz-James. 

Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream, 

Then,  starting,  scarce  suppressed  a  scream  :    380 

'  O  stranger  !  in  such  hour  of  fear, 

What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  ?  '  — 

'  An  evil  hap  how  can  it  be 

That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee  ? 

By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide  385 

Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide, 

And  marshalled,  over  bank  and  bourne,1 

The  happy  path  of  my  return.'  — 

'The  happy  path  !  — what !  said  he  naught 

Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought,  390 

Of  guarded  pass  ? '  — '  No,  by  my  faith  ! 

Nor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe.'2  — 

'  O  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 

—  Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern  ; 

Learn  thou  his  purpose,  and  conjure  3  395 

That  he  will  guide  the  stranger  sure !  — 

What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  ? 

The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 

Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 

Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here.'  400 

XVII 

'  Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be, 
Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee  ; 
1  Boundary.          2  Predict  harm.          8  Solemnly  entreat  (him). 


150  The   Lady  of  the  Lake 

Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath, 
When  love  or  honour's  weighed  with  death. 
Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance,  405 

And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 
I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild 
Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled ; 
By  this  soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 
From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war.  410 

Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait ; 
They  bear  us  soon  to  Stirling  gate. 
I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 
I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower '  — 
'O!  hush,  Sir  Knight !  'twere  female  art,1       415 
To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart ; 
Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 
Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear. 
That  fatal  bait  hath  lured  thee  back, 
In  deathf ul  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track ;  420 

And  how,  O  how,  can  I  atone 
The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on  !  — 
One  way  remains  —  I'll  tell  him  all  — 
Yes!  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall ! 
Thou,  whose  light  folly  bears  the  blame  425 

Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame  1 
But  first  —  my  father  is  a  man 
Outlawed  and  exiled,  under  ban  ; 
The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head, 
With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed.  —  *  430 

1  Deceit. 


Canto  IV  151 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak  ?  —  then  hear  the  truth  ! 

Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth,  — 

If  yet  he  is  !  — exposed  for  me 

And  mine  to  dread  extremity  — 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart ;  435 

Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart ! ' 

XVIII 

Fitz-James  knew  every  wily  train l 
A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain  ; 
But  here  he  knew  and  felt  them  vain. 
There  shot  no  glance  from  Ellen's  eye,  440 

To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  lie; 
In  maiden  confidence  she  stood, 
Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood, 
And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 
Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony,  445 

As 2  death  had  sealed  her  Malcolm's  doom, 
And  she  sat  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 
Hope  vanished  from  Fitz-James's  eye, 
But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 
He  proffered  to  attend  her  side,  450 

As  brother  would  a  sister  guide, — 
'  O  1  little  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart ! 
Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 
O  haste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn 
If  thou  mayst  trust  yon  wily  kern.'  455 

With  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid, 
1  Allurement.  2  As  if. 


152      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade, 

A  parting  step  or  two  he  made  ; 

Then,  as  some  thought  had  crossed  his  brain, 

He  paused,  and  turned,  and  came  again.          460. 

XIX 

{ Hear,  lady,  yet  a  parting  word  !  — 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  life  of  Scotland's  lord. 
This  ring  the  grateful  monarch  gave, 
And  bade,  when  I  had  boon 1  to  crave,  465 

To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 
The  recompense  that  I  would  name. 
Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 
But  one  who  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 
Whose  castle  is  his  helm  and  shield,  470 

His  lordship 2  the  embattled  field. 
What  from  a  prince  can  I  demand, 
Who  neither  reck3  of  state  nor  land  ? 
Ellen,  thy  hand  —  the  ring  is  thine  ; 
Each  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign.  475 

Seek  thou  the  king  without  delay ; 
This  signet  shall  secure  thy  way ; 
And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 
As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me.' 
He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on,  480 

Paused  —  kissed  her  hand  —  and  then  was  gone. 
The  aged  minstrel  stood  aghast, 
1  Favour,  2  Dominion.  8  Care  for. 


Canto  IV  153 

So  hastily  Fitz-James  shot  past. 

He  joined  his  guide,  and  winding  down 

The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown,  485 

Across  the  stream  they  took  their  way, 

That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray. 

xx 

All  in  the  Trosachs'  glen  was  still, 

Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill : 

Sudden  his  guide  whooped  loud  and  high  —   490 

'  Murdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ? '  — 

He  stammered  forth  — '  I  shout  to  scare 

Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare.' 

He  looked  —  he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 

His  own  brave  steed  :  — '  Ah  !  gallant  grey !    495 

For  thee  —  for  me,  perchance  —  'twere  well 

We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosachs'  dell.  — 

Murdoch,  move  first — but  silently; 

Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die  ! ' 

Jealous  and  sullen,  on  they  fared,1  500 

Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI 

Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge, 
When  lo  !  a  wasted  female  form, 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm,  505 

1  Went. 


154  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

In  tattered  weeds l  and  wild  array, 

Stood  on  a  cliff  beside  the  way, 

And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye, 

Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky, 

Seemed  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy.  510 

Her  brow  was  wreathed  with  gaudy  broom  ; 

With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 

Of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 

To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing ; 

Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought,      515 

Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 

The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried, 

And  shrieked  till  all  the  rocks  replied  ; 

As  loud  she  laughed  when  near  they  drew, 

For  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew ;  520 

And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung, 

And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung  — 

She  sung  !  —  the  voice,  in  better  time, 

Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime ; 

And  now,  though  strained  and  roughened,  still 

Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill.  526 

XXII 

SONG 
'  They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

They  say  my  brain  is  warped  and  wrung  — 
I  cannot  sleep  on  Highland  brae, 

I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue.  530 

1  Clothes. 


Canto   IV  155 

But  were  I  now  where  Allan  glides, 
Or  heard  my  native  Devan's  tides, 
So  sweetly  would  I  rest,  and  pray 
That  Heaven  would  close  my  wintry  day  1 

'  'Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid,  535 

They  made  me  to  the  church  repair ; 

It  was  my  bridal  morn,  they  said, 

And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there 

But  woe  betide  the  cruel  guile, 

That  drowned  in  blood  the  morning  smile  !      540 

And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream ! 

I  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream.' 

XXIII 

'Who  is  this  maid?  what  means  her  lay1 

She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 

And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  grey,  545 

As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing, 

By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring.'  — 

'  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,'  Murdoch  said, 

'  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid, 

Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride,  550 

When  Roderick  forayed  Devan-side. 

The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made, 

And  felt  our  chief's  unconquered  blade. 

I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 

But  oft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge.  —     555 


156  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Hence,  brain-sick  fool ! '  —  He  raised  his  bow :  — 

'  Now,  if  thou  strikest  her  but  one  blow, 

I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 

As  ever  peasant  pitched  a  bar  ! '  — 

'  Thanks,  champion,  thanks ! '  the  maniac  cried,  560 

And  pressed  her  to  Fitz-James's  side. 

'  See  the  grey  pennons  I  prepare, 

To  seek  my  true-love  through  the  air  1 

I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom, 

To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume  !  565 

No !  —  deep  amid  disjointed  stones, 

The  wolves  shall  batten1  on  his  bones, 

And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 

By  bush  and  brier  in  mid-air  staid, 

Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free,  570 

Meet  signal  for  their  revelry.'  — 

XXIV 

'  Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still ! '  — 

1  O  !  thou  look'st  kindly,  and  I  will.  — 

Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been, 

But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln  green ;  575 

And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung, 

Still,  still  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

*  For  O  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true, 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away ! 
1  Fatten. 


Canto   IV  157 

> 

His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue,  580 

And  so  blithely  he  trilled  the  Lowland  lay ! 

'  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell  .  .  . 

But  thou  art  wise,  and  guessest  well.' 

Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone, 

And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on.  585 

Still  on  the  clansman  fearfully 

She  fixed  her  apprehensive  eye  ; 

Then  turned  it  on  the  knight,  and  then 

Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV 

'  The  toils  are  pitched,1  and  the  stakes  are  set,      590 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily  ; 
The  bows  they  bend  and  the  knives  they  whet, 
Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

'  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten, 

Bearing  its  branches  sturdily ;  595 

He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 
Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

'  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe, 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully  ; 

She  warned  him  of  the  toils  below,  600 

O,  so  faithfully,  faithfully  ! 

1  Nets  are  set. 


158  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 

Ever  sing  warily,  warily  ; 
He  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  speed  — 

Hunters  watch  so  narrowly.'  605 

XXVI 

Fitz- James's  mind  was  passion-tossed, 
When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost ; 
But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 
And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought.  — 
Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare,  610 

But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware, 
He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 
'  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die  ! ' 
Forth  at  full  speed  the  clansman  flew 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  drew.  615 

The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-James's  crest, 
And  thrilled l  in  Blanche's  faded  breast.  — 
Murdoch  of  Alpine !  prove  thy  speed, 
For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  needl 
With  heart  of  fire,  and  foot  of  wind,  620 

The  fierce  avenger  is  behind ! 
Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife  — 
The  forfeit  death  —  the  prize  is  life  ! 
Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before, 
Close  couched  upon  the  heathery  moor ;  625 

Them  couldst  thou  reach  !  —  it  may  not  be  — 
Thine  ambushed  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see, 
1  Quivered. 


Canto  IV  159 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee  ! 

—  Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 

As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust ;  630 

With  foot  and  hand  Fitz-James  must  strain, 

Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 

Bent  o'er  the  fallen,  with  falcon  eye, 

He  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die ; 

Then  slower  wended  back  his  way,  635 

Where  the  poor  maiden  bleeding  lay. 

XXVII 

She  sat  beneath  the  birchen  tree, 

' 

Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee ; 

She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft, 

And  gazed  on  it,  and  feebly  laughed  ;  640 

Her  wreath  of  broom  and  feathers  grey, 

Daggled 1  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 

The  knight  to  staunch  the  life-stream  tried,  — 

'  Stranger,  it  is  in  vain  ! '  she  cried. 

'  This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more  645 

Of  reason's  power  than  years  before ; 

For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 

My  frenzied  visions  fade  away. 

A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die, 

And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye,  650 

That  thou  wert  my  avenger  born.  — 

Seest  thou  this  tress?  —  O!  still  I've  worn 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 


160  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Through  danger,  frenzy,  and  despair ! 

It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine,  655 

But  blood  and  tears  have  dimmed  its  shine. 

I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shred,1 

Nor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head  — 

My  brain  would  turn  1  —  but  it  shall  wave 

Like  plumage  on  thy  helmet  brave,  660 

Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 

And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again.  —  » 

I  waver  still.  — O  God  !  more  bright 

Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light !  — 

O  !  by  thy  knighthood's  honoured  sign,  665 

And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 

When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 

Who  boasts  him  chief  of  Alpine's  clan, 

With  tartans  broad,  and  shadowy  plume, 

And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom,  670 

Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 

And  wreak2  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong! 

They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell  .  .  . 

Avoid  the  path  .  .  .  O  God !  .  .  .  farewell.' 

XXVIII 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James ;  '  675 

Fast  poured  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims  ; 
And  now  with  mingled  grief  and  ire, 
He  saw  the  murdered  maid  expire. 
'  God,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief, 

1  Cut.  2  Avenge. 


Canto  IV  161 

As  I  wreak  this  on  yonder  chief ! '  680 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair  ; 

The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  dyed, 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet-side  : 

'  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth,  I  swear,  685 

No  other  favour J  will  I  wear, 

Till  this  sad  token  I  imbrue2 

In  the  best  blood  of  Roderick  Dhu. 

—  But  hark !  what  means  yon  faint  halloo  ? 

The  chase  is  up,  —  but  they  shall  know  690 

The  stag  at  bay's  a  dangerous  foe.' 

Barred  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 

Through  copse  and  cliffs  Fitz-James  must  stray, 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track, 

By  stream  and  precipice  turned  back.  695 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at  length, 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

He  couched  him  3  in  a  thicket  hoar, 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er :  — 

'  Of  all  my  rash  adventurous  past,  700 

This  frantic  feat  must  prove  the  last ! 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guess'd, 

That  all  this  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Doune  ?  705 

Like  bloodhounds  now  they  search  me  out, — 

Hark,  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout !  — 

1  Token  from  a  lady.  2  Soak.  8  Lay  down. 

LADY  OF  THE   LAKE — II 


1 62  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

If  farther  through  the  wilds  I  go, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe  : 

I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  grey,  710 

Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way.' 

XXIX 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 

The  woods  are  wrapt  in  deeper  brown, 

The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ;  715 

Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright, 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake,  720 

He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake  ; 

And  not  the  summer  solstice  there 

Tempered  the  midnight  mountain  air, 

But  every  breeze  that  swept  the  wold 

Benumbed  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold.         725 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 

Famished  and  chilled,  through  ways  unknown, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he  journeyed  on ; 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turned, 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  burned.  730 

xxx 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear, 
Basked,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 


Canto   IV  163 

And  up  he  sprung  with  sword  in  hand, — 
'  Thy  name  and  purpose  ?     Saxon,  stand  ! '  — 
'  A  stranger.'  — '  What  dost  thou  require  ?  '  —  735 
'  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 
My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 
The  gale  has  chilled  my  limbs  with  frost.'  — 
'  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ? '  — '  No.' - 
'  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ? '  —  740 

'  I  dare  !  to  him  and  all  the  band 
He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand.'  — 
'  Bold  words  !  — but,  though  the  beast  of  game 
The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 
Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend,          745 
Ere  hound  we  slip,1  or  bow  we  bend, 
Who  ever  recked  where,  how,  or  when, 
The  prowling  fox  was  trapped  or  slain  ? 
Thus  treacherous  scouts,  —  yet  sure  they  lie, 
Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy  ! '  —  750 

'  They  do,  by  heaven  !  —  Come  Roderick  Dhu, 
And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 
And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 
I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest.'  — 
'  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright,  755 

Thou  bear'st  the  belt  and  spur  of  knight.'  — 
'  Then  by  these  tokens  mayest  thou  know 
Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe.'  - 
'  Enough,  enough  ;  — sit  down,  and  share 
A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare.'  760 

1  Let  loose.  * 


164  The  Lady  of  the   Lake 


XXXI 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 
The  hardened  flesh  of  mountain  deer ; 
Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid, 
And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 
He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest,  765 

Then  thus  his  further  speech  addressed  :  — 
'  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 
A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true ; 
Each  word  against  his  honour  spoke 
Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke  ;  770 

Yet  more,  upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 
A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 
It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn,  — 
Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne  ; 
It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand,  775 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand  : 
But,  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 
Will  I  depart  from  honour's  laws  ; 
To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 
And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ;  78° 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 
In  vain  he  never  must  require. 
Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day  ; 
Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 
O'er  stock1  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 
Till  past  Clan-Alpine's  utmost  guard,  786 

1  Stump. 


Canto   IV  165 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford  ; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword.'  — 

'  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven, 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given  !  '  —  790 

'  Well,  rest  thee  ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby.' 

With  that  he  shook  the  gathered  heath, 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath  ; 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side,  795 

Lay  peaceful  down,  like  brothers  tried, 

And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 


CANTO  FIFTH 

THE  COMBAT 
i 

FAIR  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light, 

When  first,  by  the  bewildered  pilgrim  spied, 
It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night, 

And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 
And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain  side  ;  —  5 

Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 
Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride, 

Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Courtesy's  bright  star, 
Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  the  brow  of 
War. 

ii 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen,  10 

Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 
Looked  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Muttered  their  soldier  matins  by,  15 

And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael  around  him  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
1 66 


Canto  V  167 

And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way,  20 

By  thicket  green  and  mountain  grey. 

A  wildering  path  !  —  they  winded  now 

Along  the  precipice's  brow, 

Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath, 

The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith,  25 

And  all  the  vales  between  that  lie, 

Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky ; 

Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 

Gained  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 

'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain  30 

Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain  ; 

So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through, 

Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew,  — 

That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear, 

It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear  !  35 


in 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep, 

The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 

Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows, 

There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose ; 

Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on,  40 

Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone  ; 

An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 

With  hardihood  against  a  host. 

The  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 

Was  dwarfish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak,  45 


1 68  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

With  shingles l  bare,  and  cliffs  between, 

And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green, 

And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high, 

It  held  the  copse  in  rivalry. 

But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still,  50 

Dank  osiers2  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 

And  oft  both  path  and  hill  were  torn, 

Where  wintry  torrent  down  had  borne, 

And  heaped  upon  the  cumbered  land 

Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand.  55 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 

Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws, 

And  asked  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 

He  sought  these  wilds,  traversed  by  few,  60 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV 

'  Brave  Gael,  my  pass  in  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side  ; 
Yet,  sooth  to  tell,'  the  Saxon  said, 
'  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claim  its  aid.  65 

When  here,  but  three  days  since,  I  came, 
Bewildered  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  seemed  as  peaceful  and  as  still 
As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 
Thy  dangerous  chief  was  then  afar,  70 

Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 
1  Gravelly  places.  2  Willows. 


Canto  V  169 

Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain-guide, 

Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied.'  — 

'  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?  '  — 

'  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why  !  —  75 

Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fixed  cause 

As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws  ? 

Enough,  I  sought  to  drive  away 

The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day ; 

Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide  So 

A  knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide,  — 

A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  strayed, 

The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid : 

Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 

The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone.' —  85 


'  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not ;  — 

Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 

Say,  heard  ye  nought  of  Lowland  war, 

Against  Clan-Alpine,  raised  by  Mar  ?  ' 

— '  No,  by  my  word  ;  —  of  bands  prepared        90 

To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard  ; 

Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but,  when  they  hear 

This  muster  of  the  mountaineer, 

Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 

Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung.' —     95 

'  Free  be  they  flung  !  —  for  we  were  loath 

Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth. 


170  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Free  be  they  flung !  —  as  free  shall  wave 
Clan-Alpine's  Pine  in  banner  brave. 
But,  stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 
Bewildered  in  the  mountain  game, 
Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 
Vich-Alpine's  vowed  and  mortal  foe  ? '  - 
'  Warrior,  but  yester-morn  I  knew 
Naught  of  thy  chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlawed  desperate  man, 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight, 
With  ruffian  dagger  stabbed  a  knight: 
Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart.' 


VI 

Wrothful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 
Dark  lowered  the  clansman's  sable  scowl. 
A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 
'  And  heardst  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade  ? 
Heardst  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 
What  recked  the  chieftain  if  he  stood 
On  Highland  heath  or  Holy-Rood  ? 
He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 
If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven.'  — 
'  Still  was  it  outrage  ;  —  yet,  'tis  true, 
Not  then  claimed  sovereignty  his  due  ; 


Canto  V  171 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 
Held  borrowed  truncheon l  of  command,          125 
The  young  king,  mewed 2  in  Stirling  tower, 
Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 
But  then,  thy  chieftain's  robber  life  !  — 
Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 
Wrenching  from  ruined  Lowland  swain  130 

His  herds  and  harvest  reared  in  vain. — 
Methinks  a  soul  like  thine  should  scorn 
The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne.' 

VII 

The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 

And  answered  with  disdainful  smile,  —  135 

'  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 

I  marked  thee  send  delighted  eye, 

Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 

Extended  in  succession  gay, 

Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green,  140 

With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between  :  — 

These  fertile  plains,  that  softened  vale. 

Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 

The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand, 

And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land.  145 

Where  dwell  we  now  ?     See,  rudely  swell 

Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 

Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread 

1  Mace  (symbol  of  authority).  2  Shut  up. 


172      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

For  fattened  steer  or  household  bread  ; 
Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 
And  well  the  mountain  might  reply,  — 
"  To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 
Belong  the  target l  and  claymore  ! 
I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 
Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest." 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 
Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth, 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 
And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 
Ay,  by  my  soul !  —  While  on  yon  plain 
The  Saxon  rears 2  one  shock  of  grain  ; 
While  of  ten  thousand  herds  there  strays 
But  one  along  yon  river's  maze,  — 
The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 
Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share. 
Where  live  the  mountain  chiefs  who  hold, 
That  plundering  Lowland  field  and  fold 
Is  aught  but  retribution  true  ? 
Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu.'  — 

VIII 

Answered  Fitz-James,  — '  And,  if  I  sought, 
Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought  ? 
What  deem  ye  of  my  path  waylaid  ? 
My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ? '  — 

1  Round  shield.  2  Raises. 


Canto  V  173 

'As. of  a  meed1  to  rashness  due: 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, —        175 

I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  staid, 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid,  — 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go  ; 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

Nor  yet,  for  this,  even  as  a  spy,  180 

Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doomed  to  die, 

Save  to  fulfil  an  augury.'  — 

'  Well,  let  it  pass  ;  nor  will  I  now 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow, 

To  chafe  my  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow.  185 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride : 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 

In  peace  ;  but  when  I  come  again, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow,  190 

As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

For  love-lorn  swain  in  lady's  bower 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

This  rebel  chieftain  and  his  band! ' —  195 

IX 

'  Have  then  thy  wish  ! '  —  He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill ; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

1  Reward. 


174      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose  200 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows  ; 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 

From  shingles  grey  their  lances  start, 

The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart,  205 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Are  bristling  into  ax  and  brand, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife. 

That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen  210 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still.  215 

Like  the  loose  crags,  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung,  220 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-James  — '  How  say'st  thou  now?  225 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true  ; 

And,  Saxon,  —  I  am  Roderick  Dhu ! ' 


Canto  V  175 


Fitz-James  was  brave  :  —  though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrilled  with  sudden  start, 

He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air,  230 

Returned  the  chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before  :  — 

'  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I.'  235 

Sir  Roderick  marked  —  and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foeman  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood  —  then  waved  his  hand  :  240 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band  ; 

Each  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood  ; 

Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low ;  245 

It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

Had  swallowed  up  her  warlike  birth. 

The  wind's  last  breath  had  tossed  in  air 

Pennon  and  plaid  and  plumage  fair,  — 

The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side,  250 

Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide  : 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted1  back 

From  spear  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack,2  — 

1  Flashed.  2  Horseman's  jacket. 


176  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 

On  bracken  green,  and  cold  grey  stone.  255 

XI 

Fitz-James  looked  round  —  yet  scarce  believed 
The  witness  that  his  sight  received ; 
Such  apparition  well  might  seem 
Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 
Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed,  260 

And  to  his  look  the  chief  replied: 
'  Fear  naught  —  nay,  that  I  need  not  say  — 
But  —  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 
Thou  art  my  guest ;  —  I  pledged  my  word 
As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford  :  265 

Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 
For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand, 
Though  on  our  strife  lay l  every  vale 
Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael. 
So  move  we  on  ;  —  I  only  meant  270 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu.' 
They  moved  :  —  I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave 
As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive  ;  275 

Yet  dare  not  say  that  now  his  blood 
Kept  on  its  wont 2  and  tempered  flood, 
As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 
That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 
i  Depended.  2  Usual. 


Canto  V  177 

Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife  280 

With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  life, 

Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide 

So  late  dishonour'd  and  defied. 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 

The  vanished  guardians  of  the  ground,  285 

And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep, 

And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain 

The  signal-whistle  heard  again. 

Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind  290 

The  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 

Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 

Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 

Nor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 

To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear.  295 

XII 

The  chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

And  reached  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 

Which,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes, 

From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks, 

Sweeps  through  the  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines  300 

On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines, 

Where  Rome,  the  empress  of  the  world, 

Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurled. 

And  here  his  course  the  chieftain  staid, 

Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid,  305 

And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said  — 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE — 12 


178  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  Bold  Saxon  I  to  his  promise  just, 

Vich-Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 

This  murderous  chief,  this  ruthless  man, 

This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan,  310 

Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Far  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard. 

Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 

A  chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 

See,  here  all  vantageless 1  I  stand,  315 

Armed,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand : 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword.' 

XIII 

The  Saxon  paused :  —  'I  ne'er  delayed, 
When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade  ;  320 

Nay,  more,  brave  chief,  I  vowed  thy  death  : 
Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 
And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 
A  better  meed  have  well  deserved : 
Can  naught  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ?  325 

Are  there  no  means  ? ' —  '  No,  stranger,  none  ! 
And  hear,  —  to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal, — 
The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 
For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead :  3^0 

"  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 
His  party  conquers  in  the  strife."  '  — 
1  Without  advantage. 


Canto  V  179 

'  Then,  by  my  word,'  the  Saxon  said, 

'  The  riddle  is  already  read. 

Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff,  —  335 

There  lies  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 

Thus  Fate  has  solved  her  prophecy ; 

Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me. 

To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 

When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe,  340 

Or  if  the  king  shall  not  agree 

To  grant  thee  grace  and  favour  free, 

I  plight  mine  honour,  oath,  and  word, 

That,  to  thy  native  strengths l  restored, 

With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand,  345 

That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land.' 

XIV 

Dark  lightning  flashed  from  Roderick's  eye  — 
'  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high, 
Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu  ?  350 

He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate  1 
Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate  :  — 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 
Not  yet  prepared  ?  —  By  Heaven,  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valour  light  355 

As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 
Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
1  Forces. 


180  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair.'  — 
'  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word  ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,1  begone  !  — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone, 
Proud  chief  !  can  courtesy  be  shown  ; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn,2 
Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern, 
Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not  —  doubt  not  —  which  thou  wilt  - 
We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt.'  — 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  looked  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 
Then,  foot  and  point  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed. 

xv 

111  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw, 
Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dashed  aside  ; 
For,  trained  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 

1  Pity.  2  Heap  of  stones. 


Canto  V  181 

Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 

He  practised  every  pass  and  ward,1  385 

To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard  ; 

While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far, 

The  Gael  maintained  unequal  war. 

Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood, 

And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood ;  390 

No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide, 

The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 

Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 

And  showered  his  blows  like  wintry  rain  ; 

And,  as  firm  rock  or  castle-roof  395 

Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 

The  foe,  invulnerable  still, 

Foiled  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill ; 

Till,  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 

Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand,  400 

And  backward  borne  upon  the  lea, 

Brought  the  proud  chieftain  to  his  knee. 

XVI 

'  Now,  yield  thee,  or  by  Him  who  made 
The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade  ! '  • — 
'  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy  !  405 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die.' 
—  Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil, 

1  Attack  and  defence. 


1 82  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung;  410 

Received,  but  recked  not  of  a  wound, 
And  locked  his  arms  his  foeman  round.  — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own  ! 
No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown ! 
That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel  415 

Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel !  — 
They  tug,  they  strain !  down,  down  they  go, 
The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 
The  chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compressed, 
His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast ;  420 

His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 
Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 
From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight, 
Then  gleamed  aloft  his  dagger  .bright!  — 
—  But  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied  425 

The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 
And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came, 
To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 
For,  while  the  dagger  gleamed  on  high, 
Reeled  soul  and  sense,  reeled  brain  and  eye.       430 
Down  came  the  blow !  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 
The  fainting  chief's  relaxing  grasp  ; 
Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close,1  435 

But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose. 
1  Encounter. 


Canto  V  183 

i 

XVII 

He  faltered  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life, 

Redeemed,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife ; 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  cast, 

Whose  every  gasp  appeared  his  last ;  440 

In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipt  the  braid,  — 

'  Poor  Blanche  !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid  : 

Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live, 

The  praise  that  faith  and  valour  give.' 

With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note,  445 

Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 

Unbonneted,  and  by  the  wave 

Sat  down  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 

Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet 

Of  rushing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet ;  450 

The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 

Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln  green ; 

Two  who  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead 

By  loosened  rein  a  saddled  steed  ; 

Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course,  455 

And  by  Fitz-James  reined  up  his  horse ; 

With  wonder  viewed  the  bloody  spot  — 

— '  Exclaim  not,  gallants !  question  not.  — 

You,  Herbert  and  Luffness,  alight, 

And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight ;  460 

Let  the  grey  palfrey  bear  his  weight, 

We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight, 

And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight ; 


184  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

I  will  before  at  better  speed, 

To  seek  fresh  horse  and  fitting  weed.1  465 

The  sun  rides  high  ;  —  I  must  be  boune, 

To  see  the  archer-game  at  noon  ; 

But  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea.  — 

De  Vaux  and  Herries,  follow  me. 

XVIII 

'  Stand,  Bayard,  stand  ! '  —  the  steed  obeyed,  470 
With  arching  neck  and  bended  head, 
And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear, 
As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 
No  foot  Fitz-James  in  stirrup  staid, 
No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid,  475 

But  wreathed  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 
And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain, 
Turned  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel, 
And  stirred  his  courage  with  the  steel. 
Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air,  480 

The  rider  sat  erect  and  fair, 
Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 
Forth  launched,  along  the  plain  they  go. 
They  dashed  that  rapid  torrent  through, 
And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew ;  485 

Still  at  the  gallop  pricked 2  the  knight, 
His  merry-men  followed  as  they  might. 
Along  thy  banks,  swift  Teith  !  they  ride, 
And  in  the  race  they  mock  thy  tide ; 
1  Clothing.  2  Spurred  on. 


Canto  V  185 

Torry  and  Lendrick  now  are  past,  490 

And  Deanstown  lies  behind  them  cast ; 

They  rise,  the  bannered  towers  of  Doune, 

They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon  ; 

Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire, 

They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre;  495 

They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 

The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier  ; 

They  bathe  their  coursers'  sweltering  sides, 

Dark  Forth  !  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 

And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground,  500 

With  plash,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 

Right-hand  they  leave  thy  cliffs,  Craig-Forth ! 

And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 

Grey  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town, 

Upon  their  fleet  career  looked  down.  505 

XIX 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strained, 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  reined  ; 

A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung, 

Who  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung :  — 

'  Seest  thou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  grey,  510 

Who  townward  holds  the  rocky  way, 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Mark'st  thou  the  firm,  yet  active  stride, 

With  which  he  scales  the  mountain-side  ? 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or  whom  ? '   515 

'  No,  by  my  word  ;  —  a  burly  groom 


1 86  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 

A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace.'  — 

'  Out,  out,  De  Vaux  !  can  fear  supply, 

And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye  ?  520 

Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew, 

That  stately  form  and  step  I  knew  ; 

Like  form  in  Scotland  is  not  seen, 

Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 

'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  I  525 

The  uncle  of  the  banished  Earl. 

Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe : 

The  king  must  stand  upon  his  guard ; 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared.'  530 

Then  right-hand  wheeled  their  steeds,  and  straight 

They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate.1 

xx 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 
From  Cambus-Kenneth's  abbey  grey, 
Now,  as  he  climbed  the  rocky  shelf,  535 

Held  sad  communion  with  himself  :  — 
'  Yes  1  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame ; 
A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Graeme, 
And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 
The  vengeance  of  the  royal  steel.  540 

I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, — 
God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late  1 
1  Back,  or  private,  gate. 


Canto  V  187 

t  ' 

The  abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 

My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven ;  — 

—  Be  pardoned  one  repining  tear  !  545 
For  He  who  gave  her  knows  how  dear, 

How  excellent !  but  that  is  by,1 
And  now  my  business  is  —  to  die. 

—  Ye  towers  !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled  ;  550 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound  ! 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-ax  sound, 

As  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Fell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand,  — 

The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb  555 

Prepare  —  for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom  I 

—  But  hark  !  what  blithe  and  jolly  peal 
Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel  ? 
And  see  !  upon  the  crowded  street, 

In  motley  groups  what  maskers  meet !  560 

Banner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 
And  merry  morrice-dancers  come. 
I  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array, 
The  burghers2  hold  their  sports  to-day. 
James  will  be  there  ;  he  loves  such  show,         565 
Where  the  good  yeoman  bends  his  bow, 
And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe, 
As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career, 
The  high-born  tilter 3  shivers  spear. 
I'll  follow  to  the  castle-park,  570 

1  Past.         2  Citizens,         3  Contestant  in  a  tournament. 


And  play  my  prize  ;  —  King  James  shall  mark 
If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark, 
Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days, 
His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise.' 

XXI 

The  castle  gates  were  open  flung,  575 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rocked  and  rung, 
And  echoed  loud  the  flinty  street 
Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 
As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 
Fair  Scotland's  king  and  nobles  went,  580 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 
Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 
And  ever  James  was  bending  low 
To  his  white  jennet's l  saddle-bow, 
Doffing  his  cap  to  city  dame,  585 

Who  smiled  and  blushed  for  pride  and  shame. 
And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain, — 
He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 
Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 
Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire,  590 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 
And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 
Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims  — 
'  Long  live  the  Commons'  king,  King  James!' 
Behind  the  king  thronged  peer  and  knight,      593 
And  noble  dame,  and  damsel  bright, 
1  Spanish  horse. 


Canto  V  189 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brooked  the  stay 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 

—  But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 

Dark  lowering  brow,  and  visage  stern  :  600 

There  nobles  mourned  their  pride  restrained, 

And  the  mean  burgher's  joys  disdained ; 

And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 

Were  each  from  home  a  banished  man, 

There  thought  upon  their  own  grey  tower,        605 

Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 

And  deemed  themselves  a  shameful  part 

Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

XXII 

Now,  in  the  castle-park,  drew  out 
Their  chequered  bands  the  joyous  rout.  610 

Their  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel 
And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel ; 
But  chief,  beside  the  butts,1  there  stand 
Bold  Robin  Hood  and  all  his  band,  — 
Friar  Tuck  with  q uarter staff 2  and  cowl,  615 

Old  Scathelocke  with  his  surly  scowl, 
Maid  Marian,  fair  as  ivory  bone, 
Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John ; 
Their  bugles  challenge  all  that  will, 
In  archery  to  prove  their  skill.  620 

The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  of  might,  — 
His  first  shaft  centred  in  the  white, 
1  Marks  to  shoot  at.  2  Pole. 


190  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again, 
His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 
From  the  king's  hand  must  Douglas  take 
A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake1; 
Fondly  he  watched,  with  watery  eye, 
Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy,  — 
No  kind  emotion  made  reply! 
Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight,2 
The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. 

XXIII 

Now,  clear  the  ring  !  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 
Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 
And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes, 
Nor  called  in  vain  ;  for  Douglas  came. 
—  For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame  ; 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare, 
Whom  senseless  home  his  comrades  bear. 
Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  king 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring, 
While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 
As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 
Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 
His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppressed  ; 
Indignant  then  he  turned  him  where 
Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare, 

1  Prize.  2  /.*.,  an  ordinary  archer. 


Canto  V  191 

To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 

When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 

The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone  650 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 

And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 

A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark  ;  — 

And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park, 

The  grey-haired  sires,  who  know  the  past,        655 

To  strangers  point  the  Douglas  cast, 

And  moralize  on  the  decay 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day. 

XXIV 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang, 

The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang.  660 

The  king,  with  look  unmoved,  bestowed 

A  purse  well  filled  with  pieces  broad, 

Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 

And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd, 

Who  now  with  anxious  wonder  scan,  665 

And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  grey  man  ; 

Till  whispers  rose  among  the  throng, 

That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 

Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong. 

The  old  men  marked,  and  shook  the  head,       670 

To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread, 

And  winked  aside,  and  told  each  son 

Of  feats  upon  the  English  done, 


192      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand 

Was  exiled  from  his  native  land.  675 

The  women  praised  his  stately  form, 

Though  wrecked  by  many  a  winter's  storm  ; 

The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 

His  strength  surpassing  nature's  law. 

Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd,         680 

Till  murmur  rose  to  clamours  loud. 

But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 

Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  king 

With  Douglas  held  communion  kind, 

Or  called  the  banished  man  to  mind  ;  685 

No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 

Once  held  his  side  the  honoured  place, 

Begirt  his  board,  and  in  the  field 

Found  safety  underneath  his  shield  ; 

For  he  whom  royal  eyes  disown,  690 

When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known  1 


XXV 

The  monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 

And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag, 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown, 

Two  favourite  greyhounds  should  pull  down,  695 

That  venison  free,  and  Bourdeaux  wine, 

Might  serve  the  archery  l  to  dine. 

But  Lufra,  —  whom  from  Douglas'  side 

1  Company  of  archers. 


Canto  V  193 

Nor  bribe  nor  threat  could  e'er  divide, 

The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  North,  —  700 

Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 

She  ]eft  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 

And  dashing  on  the  antlered  prey, 

Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 

And  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank.  705 

The  king's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short, 

Came  up,  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

—  The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn,          710 

The  king's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud, 

Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd ; 

But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred, 

To  share  his  board,  to  watch  his  bed,  715 

And  oft  would  Ellen  Lufra's  neck 

In  maiden  glee  with  garlands  deck ; 

They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  name 

Of  Lufra  Ellen's  image  came. 

His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high,  720 

In  darkened  brow  and  flashing  eye  ; 

As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 

The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride ; 

Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more,  — 

The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore.  725 

Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 

Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE — 13 


194  The  Lady  of  the   Lake 

XXVI 

Then  clamoured  loud  the  royal  train, 

And  brandished  swords  and  staves  amain. 

But  stern  the  baron's  warning —  '  Back  1  730 

Back,  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack  1 

Beware  the  Douglas.  —  Yes  1  behold, 

King  James  I  the  Douglas,  doomed  of  old, 

And  vainly  sought  for  near  tvnd  far, 

A  victim  to  atone  the  war,  735 

A  willing  victim,  now  attends, 

Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends.' 

'  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid  ? 

Presumptuous  lord ! '  the  monarch  said ; 

'  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan,  740 

Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man, 

The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 

My  woman-mercy  would  not  know : 

But  shall  a  monarch's  presence  brook 

Injurious  blow  and  haughty  look  ?  —  745 

What  ho  1  the  captain  of  our  Guard  1 

Give  the  offender  fitting  ward.1  — 

Break  off  the  sports ! '  —  for  tumult  rose, 

And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows,  — 

'  Break  off  the  sports  ! '  he  said,  and  frowned,  750 

'  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground.' 

XXVII 

Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray2 
Marred  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
1  Guard,  confinement.  2  Disorder. 


Canto  V  195 

i 

The  horsemen  pricked  among  the  crowd. 

Repelled  by  threats  and  insult  loud  ;  755 

To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak, 

The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek ; 

With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar, 

The  hardier  urge  1  tumultuous  war. 

At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep  760 

The  royal  spears  in  circle  deep, 

And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep ; 

While  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour 

The  rabble  with  disordered  roar. 

With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw  765 

The  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 

And  to  the  leading  soldier  said,  — 

'  Sir  John  of  Hyndford  !  'twas  my  blade 

That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid  ; 

For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then  770 

A  word  with  these  misguided  men. — 

XXVIII 

'  Hear,  gentle  friends  !  ere  yet  for  me 

Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty.2 

My  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause, 

I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws.  775 

Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 

The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire  ? 

Or,  if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong, 

Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 

1  Carry  on.  2  Allegiance. 


196  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low,  780 

That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 

Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind 

Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind  ? l 

O  no  1  Believe,  in  yonder  tower 

It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour,  785 

To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red  ; 

To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun 

For  me  that  mother  wails  her  son, 

For  me  that  widow's  mate  expires,  790 

For  me  that  orphans  weep  their  sires, 

That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws, 

And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 

O  let  your  patience  ward 2  such  ill, 

And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still  1 '  795 

XXIX 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again 
In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 
With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  prayed 
For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 
Who  for  his  country  felt  alone  800 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 
Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 
Blessed  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife ; 
And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 
The  self-devoted  chief  to  spy,  805 

1  Race.  2  Guard  against. 


Canto  V  197 

Triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire, 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire : 

Even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved  ; 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head,  810 

The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led, 

And  at  the  castle's  battled l  verge 

With  sighs  resigned  his  honoured  charge. 

XXX 

The  offended  monarch  rode  apart, 
With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart,  815 

And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 
Through  Stirling  streets  to  lead  his  train.  — 
'  O  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 
This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  fool  ? 
Hear'st  thou,'  he  said,  '  the  loud  acclaim,        820 
With  which  they  shout  the  Douglas  name  ? 
With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat 
Strained  for  King  James  their  morning  note  f 
With  like  acclaim  they  hailed  the  day 
When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas  sway  ;  825 

And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet, 
If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 
Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign, 
Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain  1 
Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  the  stream,  830 

And  fickle  as  a  changeful  dream ; 
1  Strengthened  with  battlements. 


The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood, 

And  fierce  as  Frenzy's  fevered  blood, 

Thou  many-headed  monster-thing, 

0  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king  1  835 

XXXI 

'  But  soft !  what  messenger  of  speed 
Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  steed  ? , 

1  guess  his  cognizance a  afar  — 
What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar?  '- 

'  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound  840 

Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground  : 

For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown,  — 

Most  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne, — 

The  outlawed  chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Has  summoned  his  rebellious  crew ;  845 

'Tis  said,  in  James  of  BothwelPs  aid 

These  loose  banditti 2  stand  arrayed. 

The  Earl  of  Mar  this  morn  from  Doune 

To  break  their  muster  marched,  and  soon 

Your  grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought;  850 

But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 

Till  for  such  danger  he  provide, 

With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride.' 

XXXII 

'  Thou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  amiss,  — 
I  should  have  earlier  looked  to  this :  855 

1  Coat-of-arms.  2  Bandits,  outlaws. 


Canto  V  199 

I  lost l  it  in  this  bustling  day. 

—  Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way ; 

Spare  not  for  spoiling  of2  thy  steed, — 

The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 

Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mar,  860 

We  do  forbid  the  intended  war : 

Roderick,  this  morn,  in  single  fight, 

Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight ; 

And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 

Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws.  865 

The  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 

Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 

Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar 3  feel, 

For  their  chief's  crimes,  avenging  steel. 

Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco  :  fly  !  '  —  870 

He  turned  his  steed,  — '  My  liege,  I  hie,  — 

Yet  ere  I  cross  this  lily  lawn 

I  fear  the  broadswords  will  be  drawn.' 

The  turf  the  flying  courser  spurned, 

And  to  his  towers  the  king  returned.  875 

XXXIII 

111  with  King  James's  mood  that  day 
Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay ; 
Soon  were  dismissed  the  courtly  throng, 
And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 
Nor  less  upon  the  saddened  town  880 

The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 
1  Forgot.  2  For  fear  of  spoiling.  8  Common  people. 


2oo      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 

Of  rumoured  feuds  and  mountain  war, 

Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 

All  up  in  arms  :  —  the  Douglas  too,  885 

They  mourned  him  pent  within  the  hold, 

'  Where  stout  Earl  William  was  of  old.'  — 

And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade.  890 

But  jaded  horsemen  from  the  west 

At  evening  to  the  castle  pressed ; 

And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 

Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrine's  shore ; 

At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun,  895 

And  lasted  till  the  set  of  sun. 

Thus  giddy  rumour  shook  the  town, 

Till  closed  the  Night  her  pennons  l  brown. 

1  Wings. 


CANTO    SIXTH 
THE   GUARD-ROOM 

i 
THE  sun,  awakening,  through  the  smoky  air 

Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 
Rousing  each  caitiff 1  to  his  task  of  care, 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance ; 
Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance,  5 

Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den  ; 
Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance, 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen, 
And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  of  men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  O !  what  scenes  of  woe,      10 

Are  witnessed  by  that  red  and  struggling  beam  1 
The  fevered  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Through  crowded  hospital  beholds  its  stream  ; 
The  ruined  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and  jail,          15 
The  love-lorn  wretch  starts  from  tormenting  dream  ; 

The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering  pale, 
Trims2  her  sick  infant's  couch,  and  soothes  his  feeble 
wail. 

ii 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 

With  soldier-step  and  weapon-clang,  20 

1  Wretch.  '2  Makes  trim. 

201 


2O2  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

While  drums,  with  rolling  note,  foretell 

Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 

Through  narrow  loop  and  casement  barred, 

The  sunbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 

And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air,  25' 

Deadened  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 

In  comfortless  alliance  shone 

The  lights  through  arch  of  blackened  stone, 

And  showed  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 

Faces  deformed  with  beard  and  scar,  30 

All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch, 

And  fevered  with  the  stern  debauch  ; 

For  the  oak  table's  massive  board, 

Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored, 

And  beakers  drained,  and  cups  o'erthrown,  35 

Showed  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 

Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench  ; 

Some  laboured  still  their  thirst  to  quench  ; 

Some,  chilled  with  watching,  spread  their  hands 

O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands,  40 

While  round  them,  or  beside  them  flung, 

At  every  step  their  harness l  rung. 

in 

These  drew  not  for.  their  fields  the  sword, 

Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 

Nor  owned  the  patriarchal  claim  45 

Of  chieftain  in  their  leader's  name ; 

1  Armour. 


Canto  VI 


Adventurers  they,  from  far  who  roved, 

To  live  by  battle  which  they  loved. 

There  the  Italian's  clouded  face, 

The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace  ;  50 

The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 

More  freely  breathed  in  mountain-air  : 

The  Fleming1  there  despised  the  soil 

That  paid  so  ill  the  labourer's  toil  ; 

Their  rolls  showed  French  and  German  name  ;     55 

And  merry  England's  exiles  came, 

To  share,  with  ill-concealed  disdain, 

Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 

All  brave  in  arms,  well  trained  to  wield 

The  heavy  halberd,2  brand,  and  shield  ;  60 

In  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold  ; 

In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontrolled  ; 

And  now,  by  holytide  3  and  feast, 

From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV 

They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray,  65 

Fought  'twixt  Loch  Katrine  and  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and  'mid  their  words 
Their  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords  ; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near,  70 

Whose  mangled  limbs  and  bodies  gored 
Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword, 
1  Native  of  Flanders.          2  A  kind  of  battle-ax.         3  Holiday. 


204      The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Though,  neighbouring  to  the  Court  of  Guard, 

Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard,  — 

Sad  burden  l  to  the  ruffian  joke,  75 

And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke  !  — 

At  length  up-started  John  of  Brent 

A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent ; 

A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 

In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer,  80 

In  host  a  hardy  mutineer, 

But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew, 

When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 

He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  short, 

And  marred  the  dicer's  brawling  sport,  85 

And  shouted  loud,  '  Renew  the  bowl  1 

And,  while  a  merry  catch 2  I  troll,3 

Let  each  the  buxom 4  chorus  bear, 

Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear.' 


SOLDIER'S  SONG 

'  Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule  *  90 

Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown  bowl, 
That  there's  wrath  and  despair  in  the  jolly  black-jack,6 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack 7 ; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby  1  off  with  thy  liquor, 
Drink  upsees  out,8  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar !  95 

1  Refrain.         2  Song  (round).         8  Sing.         4  Lively.         6  Paul. 
6  A  kind  of  jug.  7  Wine.  8  Deeply. 


Canto  VI  205 

1  Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 
The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip, 
Says  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly, 
And  Apollyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black  eye  ; 
Yet  whoop,  Jack !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker,  100 

Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  I 

' Our  vicar  thus  preaches — and  why  should  he  not? 
For  the  dues  of  his  cure l  are  the  placket  and  pot2 ; 
And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch,3 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  Mother  Church. 
Yet  whoop,  bully-boys  !  off  with  your  liquor,  106 

Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  1 ' 


VI 

The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 
Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 
A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, —  no 

*  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent ; 
And,  —  beat  for  jubilee  the  drum  ! 
A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come.' 
Bertram,  a  Fleming,  grey  and  scarred, 
Was  entering  now  the  Court  of  Guard,  115 

A  harper  with  him,  and,  in  plaid 
All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 
Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 
Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 
1  Office,  charge.  2  Women  and  wine.  8  Rob. 


206  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'  What  news  ? '  they  roared.  —  'I  only  know     120 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe 

As  wild  and  as  untamable 

As  the  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell ; 

On  both  sides  store1  of  blood  is  lost, 

Nor  much  success  can  either  boast.' —  125 

'  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil. 

Old  dost  thou  wax,2  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  3  and  harp  1 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land,  130 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band.'  — 


VII 

'No,  comrade  ;  —  no  such  fortune  mine. 
After  the  fight,  these  sought  our  line, 
That  aged  harper  and  the  girl, 
And,  having  audience  of  the  Earl,  135 

Mar  bade  I  should  purvey4  them  steed, 
And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 
Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm, 
For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm.'  — 
'  Hear  ye  his  boast  ? '  cried  John  of  Brent,        140 
Ever  to  strife  and  jangling5  bent; 
'  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 
And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 
To  pay  the  forester  his  fee  ? 
Plenty.         2  Grow,        8  Song-girl.        4  Furnish.       5  Quarrellirg. 


Canto  VI  207 

I'll  have  my  share,  howe'er  it  be,  145 

Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee.' 

Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood  ; 

And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 

Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife, 

Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife ;  150 

But  Ellen  boldly  stepped  between, 

And  dropped  at  once  the  tartan  screen  :  —     . 

So,  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 

The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 

The  savage  soldiery,  amazed,  155 

As  on  descended  angel  gazed  ; 

Even  hardy  Brent,  abashed  and  tamed, 

Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 


VIII 

Boldly  she  spoke,  — '  Soldiers,  attend! 

My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend  ;  160 

Cheered  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 

And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 

Not  from  the  valiant  or  the  strong 

Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong.'  — 

Answered  De  Brent,  most  forward  still  165 

In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill,  — 

'  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  played  ; 

And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid  I 

An  outlaw  I  by  forest  laws, 

And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause.  i;o 


208  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Poor  Rose,  —  if  Rose  be  living  now,'  — 
He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow,  — 
'  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou.  — 
Hear  ye,  my  mates  ;  —  I  go  to  call 
The  captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 
There  lies  my  halberd  on  the  floor ; 
And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 
To  do  the  maid  injurious  part, 
My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart!  — 
Beware  loose  speech,  or  jesting  rough : 
Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.     Enough.' 

IX 

Their  captain  came,  a  gallant  young,  — 
(Of  Tullibardine's  house  he  sprung,) 
Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight ; 
Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humour  light, 
And,  though  by  courtesy  controlled, 
Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold. 
The  high-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 
The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 
And  dauntless  eye  ;  —  and  yet,  in  sooth, 
Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth ; 
But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 
111  suited  to  the  garb  and  scene, 
Might  lightly  bear  construction  strange, 
And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 
'  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid  1 
Come  ye  to  seek  a  champion's  aid, 


Canto  VI  209 

On  palfrey  white,  with  harper  hoar, 

Like  errant  damosel ]  of  yore  ? 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require,  200 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire  ? '  — 

Her  dark  eye  flashed; — she  paused  and  sighed, — 

'  O  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride  i  — 

Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 

A  suppliant  for  a  father's  life,  205 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  king. 

Behold,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring, 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims, 

Given  by  the  monarch  to  Fitz-James.' 


The  signet-ring  young  Lewis  took, 
With  deep  respect  and  altered  look  ; 
And  said  — '  This  ring  our  duties  own  ; 
And  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown, 
In  semblance  mean 2  obscurely  veiled, 
Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  failed. 
Soon  as  the  day  flings  wide  his  gates, 
The  king  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 
Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 
Repose  you  till  his  waking  hour ; 
Female  attendance  shall  obey 
Your  hest,  for  service  or  array. 
Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way.' 

Wandering  maiden.  2  Lowly  appearance. 

LADY   OF  THE   LAKE — 14 


2io  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

But,  ere  she  followed,  with  the  grace 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race, 

She  bade  her  slender  purse  be  shared  225 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took ; 

But  Brent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  proffered  gold ;  —      230 

'  Forgive  a  haughty  English  heart, 

And  O  forget  its  ruder  part  1 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share, 

Which  in  my  barret-cap1  I'll  bear, 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war,  235 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar.' 

With  thanks  —  'twas  all  she  could  —  the  maid 

His  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

XI 

When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 
Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Brent :  —  240 

'  My  lady  safe,  O  let  your  grace 
Give  me  to  see  my  master's  face  ! 
His  minstrel  I,  —  to  share  his  doom 
Bound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires  245 

Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  lyres, 
Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 
But  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 
1  Military  cap. 


Canto  VI  211 

i 
With  the  chief's  birth  begins  our  care  ; 

Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir,  250 

Teach  the  youth  tales  of  fight,  and  grace 

His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase  ; 

In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep, 

We  cheer  his  board,  we  soothe  his  sleep, 

Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse  —  255 

A  doleful  tribute !  —  o'er  his  hearse. 

Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot ; 

It  is  my  right  —  deny  it  not !  '  — 

'  Little  we  reck,'  said  John  of  Brent, 

'  We  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ;  260 

Nor  wot 1  we  how  a  name  —  a  word  — 

Makes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord : 

Yet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part,  — 

God  bless  the  house  of  Beaudesert  1 

And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer  265 

More  than  to  guide  the  labouring  steer, 

I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast  here. 

Come,  good  old  minstrel,  follow  me ; 

Thy  lord  and  chieftain  shalt  thou  see.' 

t 

XII 

Then  from  a  rusted  iron  hook  270 

A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 
Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 
Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 

1  Know. 


212  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Portals  they  passed,  where,  deep  within, 
Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din  ;          275 
Through  rugged  vaults,  where,  loosely  stored, 
Lay  wheel,  and  ax,  and  headsman's  sword, 
And  many  an  hideous  engine  grim 
For  wrenching  joint  and  crushing  limb, 
By  artists  formed  who  deemed  it  shame  280 

And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 
They  halted  at  a  low-browed  porch, 
And  Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch, 
While  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  rolled, 
And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold.  285 

They  entered :  —  'twas  a  prison  room 
Of  stern  security  and  gloom, 
Yet  not  a  dungeon  ;  for  the  day 
Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 
And  rude  and  antique  garniture  290 

Decked  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor  ; 
Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 
Deemed  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 
'  Here,'  said  De  Brent,  '  thou  mayst  remain 
Till  the  leech l  visit  him  again.  295 

Strict  is  his  charg'e,  the  warders  tell, 
To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well.' 
Retiring  then,  the  bolt  he  drew, 
And  the  lock's  murmurs  growled  anew. 
Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed  300 

A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head  ; 
1  Physician. 


Canto  VI 


213 


The  wondering  minstrel  looked,  and  knew  — 
Not  his  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu ! 
For,  come  from  where  Clan-Alpine  fought, 
They,  erring,  deemed  the  chief  he  sought.       305 

XIII 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore  l 
Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 
Deserted  by  her  gallant  band, 
Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand,2  — 
So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu  !  310 

And  oft  his  fevered  limbs  he  threw 
In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 
Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides, 
That  shake  her  frame  with  ceaseless  beat, 
Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat ;  —  315 

O,  how  unlike  her  course  on  sea ! 
Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea !  — 
Soon  as  the  minstrel  he  could  scan, 
'  What  of  thy  lady  ?  —  of  my  clan  ?  — 
My  mother  ?  —  Douglas  ?  —  tell  me  all  ?  —       320 
Have  they  been  ruined  in  my  fall  ? 
Ah,  yes  !  or  wherefore  art  thou  here  ? 
Yet  speak,  — speak  boldly,  — do  not  fear.'- 
(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew, 
Was  choked  with  grief  and  terror  too.)  325 

'  Who  fought  ? — who  fled  ? — Old  man,  be  brief ;  — 
Some  might  —  for  they  had  lost  their  chief, 
i  Prow.  2  Stranded. 


214  The   Lady  of  the   Lake 

Who  basely  live?  —  who  bravely  died  ? '  — 

'  O,  calm  thee,  Chief ! '  the  minstrel  cried  ; 

'  Ellen  is  safe  ; '  — '  For  that,  thank  Heaven  1 '  — 

'  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given  ;  —  331 

The  Lady  Margaret,  too,  is  well ; 

And,  for  thy  clan,  —  on  field  or  fell, 

Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold.  335 

Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent, 

Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent.' 

XIV 

The  chieftain  reared  his  form  on  high, 
And  fever's  fire  was  in  his  eye ; 
But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks  340 

Chequered  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 
— '  Hark,  minstrel !     I  have  heard  thee  play, 
With  measure  bold,  on  festal  day, 
In  yon  lone  isle,  —  again  where  ne'er 
Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear  1  —  345 

That  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high 
O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 
Strike  it!  —  and  then,  (for  well  thou  canst) 
Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced,1 
Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  fight,  350 

When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 
I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 
The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears  I 
1  Flashed. 


Canto  VI  215 

These  grates,  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then, 

For  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men,  355 

And  my  free  spirit  burst  away, 

As  if  it  soared  from  battle-fray.' 

The  trembling  bard  with  awe  obeyed, — 

Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid ; 

But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight  360 

He  witnessed  from  the  mountain's  height, 

With  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night, 

Awakened  the  full  power  of  song, 

And  bore  him  in  career  along  ;  — 

As  shallop  launched  on  river's  tide,  365 

That  slow  and  fearful  le'aves  the  side, 

But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream, 

Drives  downward  swift  as  lightning's  beam. 

xv 

BATTLE  OF  BEAL'  AN  DUINE 

'  The  minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue,  37° 

For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray  — 
Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand ! 

There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern,  375 

Nor  ripple  on  the  lake, 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne,1 
The  deer  has  sought  the  brake ; 
1  Eagle. 


2i6  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still,  380 

So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder-cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud, 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 

That  mutters  deep  and  dread,  385 

Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measured  tread  ? 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams, 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance  390 

The  sun's  retiring  beams  ? 
I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war, 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far  1  395 

To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life, 

One  glance  at  their  array  I 

XVI 

'  Their  light-armed  archers  far  and  near  400 

Surveyed  the  tangled  ground  ; 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear, 

A  twilight  forest  frowned  ; 
Their  barded l  horsemen,  in  the  rear, 
1  Armoured. 


Canto  VI  217 

'The  stern  battalia  *  crowned.  405 

No  cymbal  clashed,  no  clarion  rang, 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum ; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armour's  clang, 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad  ;  411 

Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seemed  to  quake, 

That  shadowed  o'er  their  road. 
Their  vaward 2  scouts  no  tidings  bring, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe,  415 

Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing, 

Save  when  they  stirred  the  roe  ; 
The  host  moves  like  a  deep-sea  wave, 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow.  420 

The  lake  is  passed,  and  now  they  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Trosachs'  rugged  jaws ; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen,  425 

Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

XVII 

'  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 
Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 
As 3  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell, 
Had  pealed  the  banner-cry  of  hell !  430 

1  Army.  2  Vanguard.  8  As  if. 


2i 8  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

The  archery  appear ; 
For  life  !  for  life  !  their  flight  they  ply  — 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry,  435 

And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 
Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Pursuers  and  pursued  ;  440 

Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase, 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ?  — 
"Down,  down,"  cried  Mar,  "your  lances  down! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe  !  " —  445 

Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown, 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  levelled  low  ; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide.  —  450 

"  We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  tinchel1  cows2  the  game  1 
They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 

We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame."  — 

XVIII 

'  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course,  455 

The  relics 3  of  the  archer  force, 
1  Circle  of  sportsmen.  2  Overcomes.  8  Remainder. 


Canto  VI 


219 


Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light,  460 

Each  targe  was  dark  below  ; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

They  hurled  them  on  the  foe. 

I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash,  465 

As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash ; 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang  1 
But  Moray  wheeled  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Alpine's  flank,  470 

—  "  My  banner-man,  advance  ! 
I  see,"  he  cried,  "  their  column  shake. — 
Now,  gallants  !  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

Uppn  them  with  the  lance  !  "  — 
The  horsemen  dashed  among  the  rout,  475 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom ; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne  — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then  ?  480 

One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men  1 
And  refluent l  through  the  pass  of  fear 
The  battle's  tide  was  poured  ; 
1  Flowing  back. 


220  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Vanished  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear,  485 

Vanished  the  mountain-sword, 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn,1 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  dark  whirlpool  in,  490 

So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass  : 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  fight  again. 

XIX 

'  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din,  495 

That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within. 
—  Minstrel,  away  I  the  work  of  fate 
Is  bearing  on  :  its  issue  wait, 
Where  the  rude  Trosachs'  dread  defile 
Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle.  —  500 

Grey  Benvenue  I  soon  repassed, 
Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 
The  sun  is  set;  —  the  clouds  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 
An  inky  hue  of  livid  blue  505 

To  the  deep  lake  has  given ; 
Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain  glen 
Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  again. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosachs'  gorge,  510 

1  Water-fall. 


Canto  VI  221 

Mine  ear  but  heard  that  sullen  sound, 

Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 

And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife 

That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life, 

Seeming,  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll  515 

The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 

Nearer  it  comes  —  the  dim-wood  glen 

The  martial  flood  disgorged  again, 
But  not  in  mingled  tide  ; 

The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North  520 

High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth 
And  overhang  its  side ; 

While  by  the  lake  below  appears 

The  darkening  cloud  of  Saxon  spears. 

At  weary  bay *  each  shattered  band,  525 

Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand  ; 

Their  banners  stream  like  tattered  sail, 

That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 

And  broken  arms  and  disarray 

Marked  the  fell 2  havoc  of  the  day.  530 

xx 

'  Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance, 
The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  trance, 
Till  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance, 

And  cried  —  "  Behold  yon  isle  !  — 
See  !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand,  535 

But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand  : 
1  Weary,  and  at  bay.  2  Destructive. 


222  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

'Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Their  booty  wont  to  pile  ;  — 
My  purse,  with  bonnet-pieces l  store, 
To  him  will  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er,  54° 

And  loose  a  shallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war-wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den."  — 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung,  ^  545 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave  :  — 
All  saw  the  deed  —  the  purpose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamours  Benvenue 

A  mingled  echo  gave  ; 

The  Saxons  shout,  their  mate  to  cheer,  550 

The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear, 
And  yells  for  rage  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven,2 
Poured  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven ; 
A  whirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast,        555 
Her  billows  reared  their  snowy  crest. 
Well  for  the  swimmer  swelled  they  high, 
To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye ; 
For  round  him  showered,  'mid  rain  and  hail, 
The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael.  —  560 

In  vain —  He  nears  the  isle  —  and  lo  I 
His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 
—  Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  came, 
It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame ;  — 
1  Gold  coins,  showing  the  king  bonneted.  2  Shattered. 


Canto  VI  223 

I  marked  Duncraggan's  widowed  dame, —      565 

Behind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 

A  naked  dirk  gleamed  in  her  hand  : 

It  darkened,  —  but,  amid  the  moan 

Of  waves,  I  heard  a  dying  groan  ; 

Another  flash  !  —  the  spearman  floats  570 

A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats, 

And  the  stern  matron  o'er  him  stood, 

Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood. 

XXI 

1  "  Revenge  !  revenge  !  "  the  Saxons  cried  — 
The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied.  575 

Despite  the  elemental  rage, 
Again  they  hurried  to  engage  ; 
But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight, 
Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight, 
Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag,          580 
Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 
Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 
Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 
While,  in  the  monarch's  name,  afar 
A  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war,    *  585 

For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold, 
Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold.' 
—  But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand,  — 
The  harp  escaped  the  minstrel's  hand  !  — 
Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy  590 

How  Roderick  brooked  his  minstrelsy : 


224  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

At  first,  the  chieftain  to  the  chime,1 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time  ; 

That  motion  ceased,  — yet  feeling  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song ;  595 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafened  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear ; 

His  face  grows  sharp,  —  his  hands  are  clenched 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrenched  ; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye  600 

Is  sternly  fixed  on  vacancy  ; 

Thus,  motionless  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath  stout  Roderick  Dhu  !  — 

Old  Allan-Bane  looked  on  aghast, 

While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  passed :  605 

But  when  he  saw  that  life  was  fled, 

He  poured  his  wailing  o'er  the  dead. 

XXII 

LAMENT 

'  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid, 
Thy  foeman's  dread,  thy  people's  aid, 
Breadalbane's  boast,  Clan-Alpine's  shade  !       610 
For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say  ? 
—  For  thee,  — who  loved  the  minstrel's  lay, 
For  thee,  of  BothwelPs  house  the  stay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line. 
E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine,  615 

I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honoured  Pine! 
1  Music. 


Canto  VI  225 

'  What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill ! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill ! 
What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill, 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done,          620 
Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun  ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line, 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. — 
O  woe  for  Alpine's  honoured  Pine  1  625 

'  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage  !  — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
The  prisoned  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain  ! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again,  630 

Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain, 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine, 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine, 
To  wail  Clan-Alpine's  honoured  Pine.'  — 

XXIII 

Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart,  635 

Remained  in  lordly  bower  apart, 

Where  played,  with  many-coloured  gleams, 

Through  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 

In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall, 

And  lightened  up  a  tapestried  wall,  640 

And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 

A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 

LADY -OF  THE  LAKE — 15 


226  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay, 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray ; 

Or,  if  she  looked,  'twas  but  to  say  645 

With  better  omen  dawned  the  day 

In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

The  dun-deer's  hide  for  canopy  ; 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared,  650 

While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side, 

Her  station  claimed  with  jealous  pride, 

And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game, 

Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Graeme, 

Whose  answer,  oft  at  random  made,  655 

The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betrayed. 

Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known 

Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone. 

But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head  ! 

The  window  seeks  with  cautious  tread.  660 

What  distant  music  has  the  power 

To  win  her  in  this  woeful  hour? 

Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 

Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung. 

XXIV 
LAY   OF   THE   IMPRISONED   HUNTSMAN 

'  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood,  665 

My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 
My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall, 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 


Canto  VI  227 

I  wish  I  were,  as  I  have  been, 

Hunting  the  hart  in  forest  green,  670 

With  bended  bow  and  bloodhound  free, 

For  that's  the  life  is  meet 1  for  me. 

'  I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
From  yon  dull  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 
Or  mark  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl,  675 

Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring, 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing ; 
These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 
Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me.  680 

'  No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise, 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Drive  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 
And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew ; 
A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet,  685 

And  lay  my  trophies  at  her  feet, 
While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee,  — 
That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me  1 ' 

xxv 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said, 
The  listener  had  not  turned  her  head,  690 

It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 
When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 
And  Snowdoun's  graceful  knight  was  near. 
1  Fitting. 


228  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

She  turned  the  hastier,  lest  again 

The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain.— 

'  O  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James  ! '  she  said  ; 

'  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

Pay  the  deep  debt '  — '  O  say  not  so ! 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 

Not  mine,  alas  !  the  boon  to  give, 

And  bid  thy  noble  father  live  ; 

I  can  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid, 

With  Scotland's  king  thy  suit  to  aid. 

No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 

May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 

Come,  Ellen,  come  !  'tis  more  than  time  — 

He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime.'1 

With  beating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung, 

As  to  a  brother's  arm  she  clung : 

Gently  he  dried  the  falling  tear, 

And  gently  whispered  hope  and  cheer ; 

Her  faltering  steps  half  led,  half  staid,2 

Through  gallery  fair  and  high  arcade, 

Till,  at  his  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 

A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

XXVI 

Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light, 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright ; 
It  glowed  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 

1  The  first  period  of  the  morning.  2  Supported. 


H* 

Canto  VI  119 

As  when  the  setting  sun  has  given 

Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even,  720 

And  from  their  tissue  fancy  frames 

Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 

Still  by  Fitz-James  her  footing  staid  ; 

A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 

Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised,  725 

And  fearful  round  the  presence  *  gazed  ; 

For  him  she  sought  who  owned  this  state, 

The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate !  — 

She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port2 

Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court ;  730 

On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, 

Then  turned  bewildered  and  amazed,         * 

For  all  stood  bare  ;  and  in  the  room 

Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 

To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ;  735 

On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent ; 

Midst  furs  and  silks  and  jewels  sheen, 

He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln  green, 

The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring,  — 

And  Snowdoun's  knight  is  Scotland's  king  1         740 

XXVII 

As  wreath  of  snow  on  mountain-breast 
Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 
Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay,3 

1  Presence-chamber.  2  I.e.  one  with  princely  bearing. 

8  Support. 


230  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

And  at  the  monarch's  feet  she  lay ; 

No  word  her  choking  voice  commands,  —  745 

She  showed  the  ring  —  she  clasped  her  hands. 

0,  not  a  moment  could  he  brook, 

The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look  1 

Gently  he  raised  her ;  and,  the  while, 

Checked  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile  ;  750 

Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kissed, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismissed  :  — 

'  Yes,  Fair ;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 

The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 

To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes,  bring;  755 

He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 

Ask  nought  for  Douglas  ;  yester  even, 

His  prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven  : 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue  — 

1,  from  his  rebel  kinsmen,  wrong.  760 
We  would  not  to  the  vulgar  crowd 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamour  loud ; 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause, 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

I  stanched  thy  father's  death-feud  stern  765 

With  stout  De  Vaux  and  grey  Glen  cairn ; 

And  Both  well's  lord  henceforth  we  own 

The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  throne.  — 

But,  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow?  770 

Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  thine  aid  ; 

Thou  must  confirm  this  doubting  maid.' 


Canto  VI  231 


XXVIII 

Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung, 

And  on  his  neck  his  daughter  hung. 

The  monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour,  775 

The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 

When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice, 

Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice  ! 

Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 

On  nature's  raptures  long  should  pry  ;  780 

He  stepped  between  —  '  Nay,  Douglas,  nay, 

Steal  not  my  proselyte  away ! 

The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read, 

That  brought  this  happy  chance  to  speed.1 

Yes,  Ellen,  when  disguised  I  stray  785 

In  life's  more  low  but  happier  way, 

'Tis  under  name  which  veils  my  power ; 

Nor  falsely  veils  —  for  Stirling's  tower 

Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims, 

And  Normans  call  me  James  Fitz-James.  790 

Thus  watch  I  o'er  insulted  laws, 

Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause.'  — 

Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low,  — 

'  Ah,  little  traitress  !  none  must  know 

What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought,  795 

What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 

Joined  to  thine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 

My  spell-bound  steps  to  Benvenue, 

1  Success. 


232  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 

Thy  monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive  ! '  —         800 

Aloud  he  spoke  — '  Thou  still  dost  hold 

That  little  talisman  of  gold, 

Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-James's  ring :  — 

What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  king  ?  ' 

XXIX 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guessed  805 

He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  breast ; 
But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 
A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Graeme, 
And  more  she  deemed  the  monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him  who  for  her  sire,  810 

Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew  ; 
And,  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 
She  craved  the  grace l  of  Roderick  Dhu.  — 
'  Forbear  thy  suit :  —  the  King  of  kings 
Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings  ;  815 

I  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  hand, 
Have  shared  his  cheer,  and  proved  his  brand ;  — 
My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 
To  bid  Clan-Alpine's  chieftain  live  !  — 
Hast  thou  no  other  boon  to  crave  ?  820 

No  other  captive  friend  to  save  ? ' 
Blushing,  she  turned  her  from  the  king, 
And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  ring, 
As  if  she  wished  her  sire  to  speak 
1  Pardon. 


Canto  VI  233 

The  suit  that  stained 1  her  glowing  cheek.  —       825 

'  Nay,  then,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 

And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course.  — 

Malcolm,  come  forth  !  '  —  and,  at  the  word, 

Down  kneeled  the  Graeme  to  Scotland's  lord. 

'  For  thee,  rash  youth,  no  suppliant  sues,  830 

From  thee  may  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 

Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile, 

Hast  paid  our  care  by  treacherous  wile, 

And  sought,  amid  thy  faithful  clan, 

A  refuge  for  an  outlawed  man,  835 

Dishonouring  thus  thy  loyal  name.  — 

Fetters  and  warder 2  for  the  Graeme  ! '  — 

His  chain  of  gold  the  king  unstrung, 

The  links  o'er  Malcolm's  neck  he  flung, 

Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band,  840 

And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand. 


Harp  of  the  North,  farewell !     The  hills  grow  dark, 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending ; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark, 

The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending.        845 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm  !  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening   pipe,   and   hum  of   housing3 
bee.  850 

1  Caused  to  redden.         2  Jailer.         8  Returning  to  the  hive. 


234  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Yet,  once  again,  farewell,  them  minstrel  Harpl 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway  1 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

May  idly  cavil1  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long  way,        855 

Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 
When  on  the  weary  night  dawned  wearier  day, 

And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devoured  alone. 
That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  Enchantress  1  is  thine  own. 

Hark !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire,  860 

Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string  ! 
'Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire  — 

'Tis  now  the  brush  of  fairy's  frolic  wing ;  — 
Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 

Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell  —  865 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 

A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell  — 
And  now,  'tis  silent  all !  —  Enchantress,  fare  thee  well  I 

1  Find  fault. 


NOTES 

CANTO  I 

1.  The  introduction  to  each  canto  of  the  poem  is  in  the  form 
of  Spenserian  stanzas  (of  nine  lines  each,  the  last  being  an  alex- 
andrine or  twelve-syllable  verse),  which  contrast    pleasingly  with 
the  short  couplets  of  the  narrative  parts.     In  this  case   we   have 
an  imaginative  address  to  the  "  Harp  of  the  North,"  the  idealized 
poetic  spirit  of  Scotland. 

2.  St.  Fillan  was  a  saint  of  the  seventh  century.     At  least  two 
springs  were  dedicated  to  him. 

14.  According  pause  is  a  phrase  used  of  pauses  in  music  which 
permit  accompanying  music  to  be  heard. 

21.  Though  scarce  my  skill  command,  i.e.  though  my  skill 
may  scarcely  be  able  to  attain  (subjunctive). 

28.  The  stag  at  eve,  etc.     Robert  Louis  Stevenson  calls  this 
opening  of  the  story  "one   of  the    most  spirited   and   poetic  in 
literature." 

29.  Monan.     A  Scottish  saint. 

31.   Glenartney.     A  valley  (see  map). 

33.  Benvoirlich.  For  this,  and  the  other  mountains  of  the 
poem,  see  the  map.  Ben  is  the  Gaelic  prefix  meaning  "  moun- 
tain." Scott  frequently  uses  geographical  and  other  terms  in  the 
Gaelic  language,  —  the  tongue  of  the  Celtic  clans  of  the  Highlands, 
closely  connected  with  the  speech  of  the  other  Celtic  races  in 
Ireland  and  Wales,  and  of  course  wholly  distinct  from  the  speech 
of  the  Germanic  races  (to  which  English  belongs). 

47.  Tainted  gale,  i.e.  the  air  in  which  he  scents  the  hunters. 
235 


236  Notes 

53.  Uam-Var.     "  Ua-Var,  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more 
properly  Uaigh-Mor,  is  a  mountain  to  the  northeast  of  the  village 
of  Callander,  in  Menteith,  deriving  its  name,  which  signifies  the 
great  den,  or  cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the  rocks  on  the 
south  side,  said  by  tradition  to  have  been  the  abode  of  a  giant."  . 
(Scott.) 

54.  Opening.     A  hunting  term  applied  to  the  hounds  when 
they  begin  to  bark  on  scenting  the  game. 

89.    Menteith.     The  region  of  the  River  Teith  (see  map). 

112.  Brigg  (Bridge)  of  Turk.  This  crosses  a  stream  near 
Loch  Achray  (see  map) . 

131.   That  mountain  high.    Benvenue. 

137.  The  death- wound.  "  When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the 
ancient  hunter  had  the  perilous  task  of  going  in  upon,  and  killing 
or  disabling  the  desperate  animal.  .  .  .  The  task  was  dangerous, 
and  to  be  adventured  upon  wisely  and  warily,  either  by  getting 
behind  the  stag  while  he  was  gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watch- 
ing an  opportunity  to  gallop  roundly  in  upon  him  and  kill  him 
with  the  sword."  (Scott.) 

145.    Trosachs.     On  this  pass  see  the  Introduction,  page  35. 

147.  Close  couched.  This  of  course  refers  to  the  deer,  the 
participle  agreeing  with  the  noun  implied  in  "his  head." 

163.  The  banks  of  Seine.  King  James  had  been  in  France 
in  1536. 

197.   Shinar's  plain.    See  Genesis  xi.  2-4. 

297.   Drop  a  bead,  z>.  say  a  prayer. 

353.   Measured  mood.     Stately  manner. 

425.  Slighting  the  petty  need,  i.e.  making  light  of  his  smaller 
necessities, — such  as  want  of  food. 

438.  Couch  was  pulled.  Compare  the  opening  of  strophe  33 
below. 

459.  Eye  intent.  The  Celts  believed  in  a  gift  of  divination,  or 
prophecy  called  "  second  sight."  Scott  says :  "  It  is  called  in  Gaelic 
Taishitaraugh,  from  Taish.ts.n  unreal  or  shadowy  appearance;  and 


Canto   II  237 

those  possessed  of  the  faculty  are  called  Taishatrin,  which  may  be 
aptly  translated  visionaries." 

464.  Lincoln  green.  This  cloth  was  the  common  dress  of  Low- 
land Scotch  and  English  yeomen  and  hunters.  Compare  Canto  IV, 

j,  line  575- 

525.  Idasan.  The  ancient  Mount  Ida,  near  Troy,  was  famous  for 
its  vines. 

528.  Hardy  plant  could  bear.  Scott  occasionally  omits  the 
relative  pronoun,  as  here  after  "  plant "  ;  a  common  licence  in 
Shakespeare's  time. 

573.   Ferragus  or  Ascabart.    Two  giants  of  romantic  legendry. 

580.  Though  more  than  kindred.  For  explanation,  see  Canto 
II,  lines  249-252. 

585.  All  unasked.  "  The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality 
to  a  punctilious  excess,  are  said  to  have  considered  it  churlish  to 
ask  a  stranger  his  name  or  lineage  before  he  had  taken  refresh- 
ment." (Scott.) 

591.    Knight  of  Snowdoun.     See  Canto  VI,  lines  788-790. 

622.  A  harp.  Scott  quotes  here  an  old  author,  who  says : 
"They  (the  Highlanders)  delight  much  in  music,  but  chiefly  in 
harps  and  clairschoes  of  their  own  fashion.  The  strings  of  the 
clairschoes  are  made  of  brass  wire,  and  the  strings  of  the  harp  of 
sinews  ;  which  strings  they  strike  either  with  their  nails,  growing 
long,  or  else  with  an  instrument  appointed  for  that  use.  .  .  .  They 
sing  verses  prettily  compound,  containing  for  the  most  part  praises 
of  valiant  men."  Later  the  harp  gave  way  to  the  bagpipe. 

729.  That  exiled  race.  See  the  Introduction,  p.  28,  on  the  exile 
of  the  Douglases. 

CANTO   II 

7.  A  minstrel  grey.  The  minstrel  was  a  regular  officer  of  each 
great  Scottish  family,  and  it  was  his  special  duty  to  compose  and 
sing  lyrics  in  commemoration  of  the  deeds  of  his  master's  race  and 
friends  (see  line  109). 


23  8  Notes 


28.   Southern  sky.     The  Lowland  region. 

loo.   Not  so  had,  i.e.  would  have. 

131.   St.  Modan.     A  Scotch  abbot  of  the  seventh  century. 

141.  Bothwell.  An  ancient  castle  of  the  Douglases,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Clyde. 

159.  Tweed  to  Spey.  The  Tweed  is  the  southern  boundary  of 
Scotland,  the  Spey  a  river  far  to  the  north. 

200.  The  Bleeding  Heart.  This  was  the  symbol  or  cognizance 
of  the  Douglas  family. 

213.  Clan-Alpine,  i.e.  the  clan  of  Alpine,  really  a  number  of 
related  clans,  all  claiming  descent  from  an  ancient  king  named 
McAlpine. 

216.  A  Lennox  foray.  The  land  of  the  Lennox  family  bordered 
the  southern  end  of  Loch  Lomond. 

221.  Holy-Rood.  The  palace  called  Holyrood  (still  standing), 
in  Edinburgh. 

236.  Dispensation  sought.  The  permission  of  the  Pope  for  the 
marriage  of  cousins. 

260.  Maronnan's  cell.  A  chapel  at  the  eastern  end  of  Loch 
Lomond. 

270.  Bracklinn.  "This  beautiful  cascade  is  on  the  Keltic, 
a  mile  from  Callander.  The  height  of  the  fall  is  fifty  feet." 
(Scott.) 

306.  Tine-man.  A  nickname  of  Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of 
Douglas,  who  "was  so  unfortunate  in  all  his  enterprises,  that  he 
acquired  the  epithet  of  '  tine-man,'  because  he  lined,  or  lost,  his 
followers  in  every  battle  which  he  fought."  (Scott.) 

308.  Border  spears,  etc.     Douglas  was  concerned  with  Percy 
(Hotspur)  in  rebellion  against  Henry  IV. 

309.  Self-unscabbarded.    See  Canto  I,  line  537. 

319.  Beltane.  May-day,  a  Celtic  festival  in  honour  of  the  sun, 
which  was  called  "  Beal-tein,"  or  "  fire  of  Beal." 

335.  Glengyle.  A  valley  at  the  northwestern  end  of  Loch 
Katrine. 


Canto  II  239 

363.  Thrilling  sounds.  Scott  quotes  from  Dr.  Beattie  as  fol- 
lows :  "  A  pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune,  peculiar,  I  think,  to  the 
Highlands  and  Western  Isles  of  Scotland.  It  is  performed  on  a 
bagpipe,  and  differs  totally  from  all  other  music.  Its  rhythm  is  so 
irregular,  and  its  notes,  especially  in  the  quick  movement,  so  mixed 
and  huddled  together,  that  a  stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  recon- 
cile his  ear  to  it,  so  as  to  perceive  its  modulation.  Some  of  these 
pibrochs,  being  intended  to  represent  a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave 
motion,  resembling  a  march;  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset ; 
run  off  with  noisy  confusion,  and  turbulent  rapidity,  to  imitate  the 
conflict  and  pursuit ;  then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes  of  triumphant 
joy  ;  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild  and  slow  wailings  of  a  funeral 
procession." 

408.  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu.  "  Besides  his  ordinary  name 
and  surname,  which  were  chiefly  used  in  the  intercourse  with  the 
Lowlands,  every  Highland  chief  had  an  epithet  expressive  of  his 
patriarchal  dignity  as  head  of  the  clan.  .  .  .  But  besides  this  title, 
which  belonged  to  his  office  and  dignity,  the  chieftain  had  usually 
another  peculiar  to  himself,  which  distinguished  him  from  the  chief- 
tains of  the  same  race.  This  was  sometimes  derived  from  com- 
plexion, as  dhu  or  roy ;  sometimes  from  size,  as  beg  or  more;  at 
other  times,  from  some  peculiar  exploit,  or  from  some  peculiarity 
of  habit  or  appearance.  The  line  of  the  text  therefore  signifies : 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

"The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  jorrams,  or 
boat  songs  of  the  Highlanders,  which  were  usually  composed  in 
honour  of  a  favourite  chief.  They  are  so  adapted  as  to  keep  time 
with  the  sweep  of  the  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  between 
those  intended  to  be  sung  to  the  oars  of  a  galley,  where  the  stroke 
is  lengthened  and  doubled,  as  it  were,  and  those  which  were  timed 
to  the  rowers  of  an  ordinary  boat."  (Scott.) 

416.  Menteith  and  Breadalbane.  On  Menteith  see  Canto  I, 
line  89.  The  Breadalbane  country  was  north  of  Loch  Lomond. 


240  Notes 

419.  Glen  Fruin.  This,  and  the  names  mentioned  just  below, 
are  localities  in  the  Loch  Lomond  region.  Bannochar  was  a  castle. 
Scott  says,  "The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called  which  encircles 
the  lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond,  was  peculiarly  exposed  to  the 
incursions  of  the  mountaineers,  who  inhabited  the  inaccessible 
fastnesses  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake,  and  the  neighbouring  dis- 
trict of  Loch  Katrine." 

426.  Leven-Glen.  The  valley  of  the  Leven,  flowing  from  Loch 
Lomond  to  the  Clyde. 

498.   Bloody  field.    The  border  war  of  1388. 

504.  Waned  crescent.  The  crescent  was  the  badge  of  the  Buc- 
cleuch  family,  and  is  represented  as  waning  with  their  defeat  in  an 
attempt  to  restore  the  king. 

506.   Blantyre.     A  priory  near  Bothwell  Castle. 

525.  Unhooded.  The  head  of  the  falcon  was  ordinarily  kept 
covered  or  hooded,  except  when  it  was  released  to  fly  after 
game. 

541.   Ptarmigan.     A  white  bird. 

571.  Reft,  etc.,  i.e.  all  of  my  original  self  that  is  left  would  be 
taken  away  with  the  pleasure  of  the  chase. 

574.   Glenfinlas.     A  valley  (see  map). 

583.   Strath-Endrick.     A  valley  southeast  of  Loch  Lomond. 

619.  In  bloody  toils.  "In  1529  James  V  made  a  convention 
at  Edinburgh  for  the  purpose  of  considering  the  best  mode  of  quell- 
ing the  Border  robbers.  .  .  .  He  assembled  a  flying  army  of  ten 
thousand  men,  consisting  of  his  principal  nobility  and  their  fol- 
lowers, who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and  dogs  with 
them,  that  the  monarch  might  refresh  himself  with  sport  during 
the  intervals  of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he  swept 
through  Ettrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged  over  the  gate  of  his  own 
castle  Piers  Cockburn  of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared,  according 
to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  reception.  .  .  .  But  the  most  noted  victim 
of  justice,  during  that  expedition,  was  John  Armstrong  of  Gilnockie, 
famous  in  Scottish  song,  who,  confiding  in  his  own  supposed  inno- 


Canto  III  241 

cence,  met  the  king  with  a  retinue  of  36  persons,  all  of  whom 
were  hanged  at  Carlenrig."     (Scott.) 

623-626.  Meggat,  etc.  Of  these  rivers  the  Ettrick  and  Teviot 
are  branches  of  the  Tweed,  Yarrow  is  a  branch  of  the  Ettrick,  and 
the  Meggat  of  Yarrow. 

678.  Links  of  Forth.    The  windings  of  the  Forth  east  of  Stir- 
ling. 

679.  Stirling's  porch,  i.e.  at  the  entrance  of  the  castle. 
783.    Death  had  been,  i.e.  would  have  resulted. 

809.  His  henchman.  Scott  quotes  a  writer  on  Scotland  as  say- 
ing of  the  henchman:  "This  officer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to 
be  ready,  upon  all  occasions,  to  venture  his  life  in  defence  of  his 
master ;  and  at  drinking-bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his 
haunch,  from  which  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the  conver- 
sation, to  see  if  any  one  offends  his  patron." 

831.   The  Fiery  Cross.     The  call  to  arms  (see  next  canto). 

847.   Holds  in  ward.     See  line  613. 

860.  Then  .  .  .  tide.  Scott  once  wrote  to  a  friend  concerning 
this  part  of  the  story  :  "  You  must  know  this  Malcom  Graeme  was 
a  great  plague  to  me  from  the  beginning.  You  ladies  can  hardly 
comprehend  how  very  stupid  lovers  are  to  everybody  but  mistresses. 
I  gave  him  that  dip  in  the  lake  by  way  of  making  him  do  something; 
but  wet  or  dry  I  could  make  nothing  of  him.  His  insignificance  is 
the  greatest  defect  among  many  others  in  the  poem;  but  the  canvas 
was  not  broad  enough  to  include  him,  considering  I  had  to  group 
the  king,  Roderick,  and  Douglas."  Is  this  criticism  just  ? 

CANTO   III 

18.  Fiery  Cross.  "When  a  chieftain  designed  to  summon  his 
clan  upon  any  sudden  or  important  emergency,  he  slew  a  goat,  and 
making  a  cross  of  any  light  wood,  seared  its  extremities  in  the  fire, 
and  extinguished  them  in  the  blood  of  the  animal.  ...  It  was  de- 
livered to  a  swift  and  trusty  messenger,  who  ran  full  speed  with  it 

LADY   OF   THE   LAKE —  1 6 


242  Notes 

to  the  next  hamlet,  where  he  presented  it  to  the  principal  person, 
with  a  single  word,  implying  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  who 
received  the  symbol  was  bound  to  send  it  forward,  with  equal  dis- 
patch, to  the  next  village  ;  and  thus  it  passed  with  incredible 
celerity  through  all  the  district  which  owed  allegiance  to  the 
chief.  ...  At  sight  of  the  Fiery  Cross,  every  man,  from  sixteen 
years  old  to  sixty,  capable  of  bearing  arms,  was  obliged  instantly 
to  repair,  in  his  best  arms  and  accoutrements,  to  the  place  of  ren- 
dezvous. He  who  failed  to  appear  suffered  the  extremities  of 
fire  and  sword,  which  were  emblematically  denounced  to  the  diso- 
bedient by  the  bloody  and  burnt  marks  upon  this  warlike  signal." 
(Scott.) 

74.  Benharrow.  A  mountain  at  the  northern  end  of  Loch 
Lomond. 

81.  The  hallowed  creed,  i.e.  Christianity.  Old  Celtic  (heathen) 
superstitions  were  actually  mingled,  among  the  Highlanders,  with 
the  teachings  of  the  church.  The  Druid  (line  76)  was  the  early 
Celtic  priest. 

91.  Of  Brian  .  .  .  told.  This  legend  of  the  birth  of  Brian 
Scott  tells  us  is  not  his  own  invention,  but  was  taken  from  a  collec- 
tion of  Scottish  antiquities. 

1 1 6.  Virgin  snood.  "The  snood,  or  riband,  with  which  a 
Scottish  lass  braided  her  hair,  .  .  .  was  exchanged  for  the  curch, 
toy,  or  coif,  when  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state.' 
(Scott.) 

138.  Sable-lettered  page.  The  "black  letter"  books  of  the 
early  period  of  printing,  in  the  type  now  called  "  Old  English." 

154.  River  Demon.  "  It  was  a  natural  attribute  of  such  a  char- 
acter as  the  supposed  hermit,  that  he  should  credit  the  numerous 
superstitions  with  which  the  minds  of  ordinary  Highlanders  are 
almost  always  imbued.  A  few  of  these  are  slightly  alluded  to  in 
this  stanza.  The  River  Demon,  or  River-horse,  for  it  is  that  form 
which  he  commonly  assumes,  is  the  Kelpy  of  the  Lowlands,  an  evil 
and  malicious  spirit,  delighting  to  forebode  and  to  witness  calamity. 


Canto  III  243 

.  .  .  The  'noontide  hag'  (line  156),  called  in  Gaelic  Glas-lich, 
a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  female  figure,  is  supposed  in  particular 
to  haunt  the  district  of  Knoidart.  .  .  .  The  Ben-Shie  (line  168) 
implies  the  female  fairy  whose  lamentations  were  often  supposed 
to  precede  the  death  of  a  chieftain  of  particular  families.  When 
she  is  visible,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  old  woman,  with  a  blue  mantle 
and  streaming  hair."  (Scott.) 

191.  Inch-Cailliach.  The  Isle  of  Nuns  or  Old  Women,  at  the 
lower  end  of  Loch  Lomond,  where  there  was  an  ancient  church- 
yard. 

199.  Notice  the  form  of  stanza  introduced  here,  varied  by  shorter 
lines  than  the  usual  ones  of  eight  syllables.  In  the  earlier  poem 
of  Marmion  Scott  made  much  larger  use  of  this. 

253.   Coir-Uriskin.     See  lines  620-634  below. 

255.  Beala-nam-bo.  "The  pass  of  the  cattle,"  a  glade  on  the 
opposite  side  of  Benvenue  from  the  Goblin  Cave. 

286.  Lanrick  Mead.  A  meadow  near  Loch  Vennachar  (see 
map). 

300.  Dun  deer's  hide,  i.e.  the  leather  "  brogue "  or  buskin  of 
the  Highlander. 

369.  Coronach.  "The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders  .  .  . 
was  a  wild  expression  of  lamentation,  poured  forth  by  the 
mourners  over  the  body  of  a  departed  friend.  When  the  words 
of  it  were  articulate,  they  expressed  the  praises  of  the  deceased." 
(Scott.) 

452.  Benledi  saw,  etc.  "  Inspection  of  the  provincial  map  of 
Perthshire,  or  any  large  map  of  Scotland,  will  trace  the  progress 
of  the  signal  through  the  small  district  of  lakes  and  mountains, 
which,  in  exercise  of  my  poetical  privilege,  I  have  subjected  to  the 
authority  of  my  imaginary  chieftain,  and  which,  at  the  period  of 
my  romance,  was  really  occupied  by  a  clan  who  claimed  a  descent 
from  Alpine.  .  .  .  The  first  stage  of  the  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Dun- 
craggan,  a  place  near  the  Brigg  of  Turk,  where  a  short  stream 
divides  Loch  Achray  from  Loch  Vennachar.  From  thence  it 


244  Notes 

passes  toward  Callander,  and  then,  turning  to  the  left  up  the  pass 
of  Leny,  is  consigned  to  Norman  at  the  Chapel  of  Saint  Bride,  wnich 
stood  on  a  small  and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of  the  valley 
called  Strath-Ire.  Tombea  and  Arnandave,  or  Ardmandave,  are 
names  of  places  in  the  vicinity.  The  alarm  is  then  supposed  to 
pass  along  the  Lake  of  Lubnaig,  and  through  the  various  glens  in 
the  district  of  Balquidder,  including  the  neighbouring  tracts  of 
Glenfinlas  and  Strath-Gartney."  (Scott.) 

485.   Coif -clad  dame.     See  note  on  line  116. 

530.   Sickening  pang.     An  allusion  to  Proverbs  xiii.  12. 

570.  Midnight  blaze.  "  The  heath  of  the  Scottish  moorlands  is 
often  set  fire  to,  that  the  sheep  may  have  the  advantage  of  the 
young  herbage  produced,  in  room  of  the  tough  old  heather  plants. 
This  custom  (execrated  by  sportsmen)  produces  occasionally  the 
most  beautiful  nocturnal  appearances."  (Scott.) 

580.  Balvaig.  The  stream  connecting  Loch  Lubnaig  and  Loch 
Voil. 

583.  Each  man  might  claim.  "  Who  "  is  omitted.  See  note 
on  Canto  I,  line  528. 

599.  By  his  chieftain's  hand.  "The  deep  and  implicit  re- 
spect paid  by  the  Highland  clansmen  to  their  chief,  rendered  this 
both  a  common  and  a  solemn  oath."  (Scott.) 

607.  Rednoch.     A  castle  north  of  Lake  Menteith. 

608.  Cardross.     A  castle  on  the  Clyde. 

609.  Duchray.     A  castle  south  of  Loch  Ard. 

622.  Coir-nan-Uriskin.  "This  is  a  very  steep  and  romantic 
hollow  in  the  mountain  of  Benvenue,  overhanging  the  southeastern 
extremity  of  Loch  Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous 
rocks,  and  overshadowed  with  birch-trees,  mingled  with  oaks.  .  .  . 
The  name  literally  implies  the  Corri,  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shaggy 
Men.  Tradition  has  ascribed  to  the  Urisk,  who  gives  name  to  the 
cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a  man."  (Scott.) 

713.  Hymn.  Notice  how  the  whole  song  is  based  on  two 
rhymes, 


Canto  IV  245 


CANTO   IV 

19.  Braes  of  Doune.  The  region  on  the  north  side  of  the  Teith. 
63.  The  Taghairm.  "  The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people," 
says  Scott,  "  had  various  superstitious  modes  of  inquiring  into 
futurity."  In  the  case  of  the  Taghairm  "  a  person  was  wrapped 
up  in  the  skin  of  a  newly  slain  bullock,  and  deposited  beside  a 
waterfall,  or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or  in  some  other  strange, 
wild,  and  unusual  situation.  ...  In  this  situation  he  revolved  in 
his  mind  the  question  proposed  ;  and  whatever  was  impressed 
upon  him  by  his  exalted  imagination,  passed  for  the  inspiration  of 
the  disembodied  spirits  who  haunt  these  desolate  recesses." 

74.    Beal 'maha.    The  "pass  of  the  plain,"  east  of  Loch  Lomond. 
77.    Dennan's  Row.    A  settlement  near  the  foot  of  Ben  Lomond. 

152.  The  Moray,  i.e.  the  Earl  of  Moray.  The  reference  is  to 
the  cognizance  or  device  on  arms  and  banners. 

160.  Earn.  The  district  about  Loch  Earn,  north  of  Ben  Voir- 
lich. 

198.   Red  streamers  of  the  North.    The  Aurora  Borealis. 

231.   Cambus-Kenneth's  fane.    An  abbey  near  Stirling. 

261.  The  Ballad  is  a  charming  imitation  of  the  old  ballad  form, 
both  in  the  form  of  the  stanza,  the  style,  and  the  plot.  The  story 
is  founded,  Scott  tells  us,  on  a  Danish  ballad  of  the  sixteenth 
century. 

291.  Richard.  Scott  imitates  in  this  word  the  old  "wrenched 
accent "  often  found  at  the  end  of  a  ballad  line. 

306.  Fatal  green.  The  fairies  were  believed  to  wear  green, 
and  to  take  offence  if  mortals  assumed  their  colour. 

340.    'Tis  merry.     Here  the  dwarf  speaks. 

371.   Dunfermline.     A  town  northwest  of  Edinburgh. 

504.  Female  form.  In  a  letter  to  a  friend  Scott  once  related 
the  source  of  this  character :  "  I  wish  I  could  give  you  an  idea  of 
the  original,  whom  I  really  saw  in  the  Pass  of  Glencoe  many  years 
ago.  It  is  one  of  the  wildest  and  most  tremendous  passes  in  the 


246  Notes 

Highlands,  winding  through  huge  masses  of  rock  without  a  pile 
of  verdure,  and  between  mountains  that  seem  rent  asunder  by  an 
earthquake.  This  poor  woman  had  placed  herself  in  the  wildest 
attitude  imaginable,  upon  the  very  top  of  one  of  these  huge  frag- 
ments; she  had  scarce  any  covering  but  a  tattered  plaid,  which 
left  her  arms,  legs,  and  neck  bare  to  the  weather.  Her  long, 
shaggy,  black  hair  was  streaming  backwards  in  the  wind,  and  ex- 
posed a  face  rather  wild  and  wasted  than  ugly,  and  bearing  a  very 
peculiar  expression  of  frenzy.  She  had  a  handful  of  eagle's 
feathers  in  her  hand." 

523.  Better  time,  i.e.  better  days. 

531.  Allan.  This  river,  like  the  Devan  (see  next  line),  flows 
through  Perthshire  into  the  Forth. 

575.   Lincoln  green.     See  note  on  Canto  I,  line  464. 

594.    Of  ten,  i.e.  having  ten  branches  on  his  antlers. 

624.  Kindred  ambush.  The  same  in  meaning  as  "ambushed 
kin  "  in  line  627. 

745.  Space  and  law.  A  reference  to  the  rules  of  the  hunt, 
under  which  the  prey  was  given  a  start  in  the  race. 

751.   Come,  i.e.  let  Roderick  come  (subjunctive). 

772.   Mighty  augury.     Referring  to  lines  132,  133. 

787.  Coilantogle's  ford.  On  the  river  Teith,  where  it  flows 
from  Loch  Vennachar  (see  map). 

CANTO   V 

108.  The  Regent's  court.  See  Canto  II,  line  221.  The  Regent 
was  the  Duke  of  Albany  (see  line  124  below)  who  was  called  to 
the  regency  after  the  death  of  James  IV. 

263.  Doubt  not  aught,  etc.,  i.e.  suspect  nothing  from  this  dis- 
play of  my  power. 

300.  Ceaseless  mines,  etc.  "The  torrent  which  discharges 
itself  from  Loch  Vennachar  .  .  .  sweeps  through  a  flat  and  exten- 
sive moor,  called  Bochastle.  Upon  a  small  eminence  called  the 


Canto  V  247 

Dun  of  Bochastle,  and  indeed  on  the  plain  itself,  are  some  intrench- 
ments  which  have  been  thought  Roman."  (Scott.) 

356.  Carpet  knight,  i.e.  a  knight  belonging  by  his  character 
to  the  carpeted  women's  apartments. 

383.   Abroad,  i.e.  in  France.     See  note  on  Canto  I,  line  163. 

462.   A  fairer  freight.     See  Canto  IV,  line  411. 

485.   Carhonie's  hill.     About  a  mile  from  Loch  Vennachar. 

490.  Torry  and  Lendrick.  These,  and  the  following  towns, 
are  on  the  shore  of  the  Teith,  on  the  way  to  Stirling  from  Loch 
Vennachar. 

534.   Cambus-Kenneth.     See  Canto  IV,  line  231. 

551.  Sad  and  fatal  mound.  "An  eminence  on  the  northeast 
of  the  Castle,  where  state  criminals  were  executed."  (Scott.) 

558.  Franciscan  steeple,  i.e.  of  Greyfriars  Church.  The  Fran- 
ciscan monks  were  those  "  of  orders  grey." 

562.  Morrice-dancers.  The  worries,  or  morris,  was  a  familiar 
dance,  used  at  festivals,  and  often  referred  to  in  Shakespeare's 
time.  See  lines  6l i,  612  below. 

564.  Hold  their  sports.  "  Every  burgh  of  Scotland  of  the  least 
note,  but  more  especially  the  considerable  towns,  had  their  solemn 
flay,  or  festival,  when  feats  of  archery  were  exhibited,  and  prizes 
distributed  to  those  who  excelled  in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and 
the  other  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a  usual  place 
of  royal  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient  in  pomp  upon 
such  occasions,  especially  since  James  V  was  very  partial  to  them. 
His  ready  participation  in  these  popular  amusements  was  one  cause 
of  his  acquiring  the  title  of  the  King  of  the  Commons.  .  .  .  The 
usual  prize  to  the  best  shooter  was  a  silver  arrow."  (Scott.) 

603.  Hostage  for  their  clan,  i.e.  held  as  guarantee  against 
misbehaviour  by  their  clan. 

614.  Robin  Hood.  "The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw 
and  his  band  was  a  favourite  frolic  at  such  festivals."  (Scott.) 

642.  On  the  source  of  this  part  of  the  story,  see  the  Introduction, 
page  28. 


248  Notes 

660.  The  Ladies'  Rock.  A  point  below  Stirling  Castle,  formerly 
used  for  viewing  games. 

720.  Stifled  wrath.  This  passage  is  interestingly  suggestive  of 
Scott's  own  fondness  for  dogs,  which  was  shown  in  all  his  writings 
so  clearly  that  it  was  used  as  one  of  the  evidences  for  the  author- 
ship of  the  Waverley  Novels. 

887.  Earl  William.  The  Douglas  who  was  stabbed  by  James  II 
in  Stirling. 

CANTO  VI 

47.  Adventurers  they.  "  The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly 
of  the  nobility  and  barons,  with  their  vassals,  who  held  lands  under 
them  for  military  service  by  themselves  and  their  tenants.  .  .  . 
James  V  seems  first  to  have  introduced  .  .  .  the  service  of  a  small 
number  of  mercenaries,  who  formed  a  body-guard,  called  the  Foot- 
Band."  (Scott.) 

53.  Despised  the  soil.  The  soil  of  Flanders  being  noted  for 
fertility. 

78.   Trent.    A  river  of  England. 

95.  Upsees  out.  A  bit  of  Dutch  drinking  slang,  more  com- 
monly found  in  the  form  "  upsee  "  or  "  upsey." 

99.  Apollyon.  Like  Beelzebub,  the  name  of  a  chief  among 
evil  spirits. 

103.  Dues  of  his  cure.  A  jocose  allusion  to  the  freedom  from 
restraint  which  the  clergy,  a  privileged  order,  could  exercise  when 
they  chose. 

131.  Juggler  band.     "  The  jongleurs,  or  jugglers,  .  .  .  used  to 
call  in  the  aid  of  various  assistants,  to  render  these  performances  as 
captivating  as  possible.     The  glee-maiden  was  a  necessary  attend- 
ant.    Her  duty  was  tumbling  and  dancing."     (Scott.) 
152.  Tartan  screen.     The  "plaid"  of  line  116. 
170.   Needwood.     An  English  forest  belonging  to  royalty. 
183.    Tullibardine.      A    seat    of    the     Murray    family,    near 
Stirling. 


Canto  V  249 

199.  Errant  damosel.  An  allusion  to  the  distressed  ladies  who 
figured  in  many  old  romances. 

222.   Permit  I.      That  is  omitted ;   marshal  is  subjunctive. 

347.   Dermid's  race.     Dermid  was  an  ancient  Celtic  king. 

363.  Power  of  song.  The  minstrels  were  supposed  to  be  able 
to  extemporize  on  occasion. 

369.  Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine.  "A  skirmish  actually  took 
place  at  a  pass  thus  called  in  the  Trosachs,  and  closed  with  the 
remarkable  incident  mentioned  in  the  text.  It  was  greatly  poste- 
rior in  date  to  the  reign  of  James  V."  (Scott.)  Scott  goes  on 
to  tell  how  the  women  and  children  of  the  region  took  refuge, 
during  the  time  of  the  raids  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  on  the  island 
described  in  the  first  canto  of  the  poem,  and  how  a  soldier  who 
attempted  to  swim  to  it  from  the  mainland  was  killed  by  one  of 
the  women. 

452.  Tinchel.  This  was  "a  circle  of  sportsmen,  who,  by  sur- 
rounding a  great  space,  and  gradually  narrowing,  brought  immense 
quantities  of  deer  together,  which  usually  made  desperate  efforts  to 
break  through  the  Tinchel."  (Scott.) 

487.   Bracklinn.     See  Canto  II,  line  270. 

530.  In  connection  with  this  description  of  the  battle,  Lockhart 
tells  an  interesting  incident  which  he  says  Scott  took  special  pride 
in  relating.  When  a  presentation  copy  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 
reached  Sir  Adam  Ferguson,  an  army  officer  who  was  an  old  friend 
of  the  poet,  "  he  was  posted  with  his  company  on  a  point  of  ground 
exposed  to  the  enemy's  artillery;  somewhere,  no  doubt,  on  the 
lines  of  Torres  Vedras.  The  men  were  ordered  to  lie  prostrate 
on  the  ground;  while  they  kept  that  attitude,  the  captain,  kneel- 
ing at  their  head,  read  aloud  the  description  of  the  battle  in 
Canto  VI,  and  the  listening  soldiers  only  interrupted  him  by  a 
joyous  huzza,  whenever  the  French  shot  struck  the  bank  close 
above  them." 

665.  Perch  and  hood,  i.e.  idleness.  On  the  hood,  see  note  on 
Canto  II,  line  525. 


250  Notes 


734.  Wore  cap  and  plume.  For  the  source  of  this  point  in  the 
story,  see  the  anecdote  of  King  James  quoted  in  the  Introduction, 
page  31. 

838.  Byron  told  Scott  that  the  Prince  Regent  (afterward 
George  IV)  once  said  to  him  that  he  regarded  Scott  as  "  par- 
ticularly the  poet  of  princes,  as  they  never  appeared  more  fascinat- 
ing than  in  Marmion  and  The  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

846.   Wizard  elm.     See  the  opening  of  Canto  I. 

851.  Farewell.  Scott  felt  at  the  time  that  this  would  be  his 
last  important  poem;  and  he  describes  the  pleasure  he  has  found 
in  this  form  of  writing.  It  was  not  his  ambition  to  be  a  great  poet; 
hence  he  does  not  care  ("  little  reck  I ")  for  the  severe  judgement 
("  censure  sharp ")  of  critics.  The  first  and  third  of  these  con- 
cluding Spenserian  stanzas  show  Scott's  serious  lyrical  art  at  a 
point  of  dignity  and  beauty  which  he  rarely  attained. 


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